The Burden of Hope
by Demi-Saiyajin Prodigy
Summary: *Complete* Mirai timeline. Loss: a deadly weapon that crushes the heart, murders the soul. For three years, Gohan has been at its mercy, awaiting its final blow, but a chance to heal appears in the form of young Trunks. Gohan has but to take it . . .
1. Painful Memories---A Warrior's Broken Sp...

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball Z or any of its wonderful characters; that great honour belongs to Akira Toriyama

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Dragonball Z or any of its wonderful characters; that great honour belongs to Akira Toriyama.Thus it stands to reason that you should not sue me for this story; there is just no point.

The Burden of Hope

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CHAPTER ONE:Painful Memories--- A Warrior's Broken Spirit

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He saw them in the distance, felt their heat:the explosions from the androids' latest attack.Right now, buildings would be crumbling on top of innocents; the people who were unfortunate enough to avoid that fate would be treated to a far less pleasant one at the hands of a deceptively harmless-looking dark-haired youth and his fair-haired sister.Screams tore the sky asunder. Gohan settled himself in his hiding place:what used to be the basement of a small house.The dwelling itself had been completely blown away; not even a cinder of what had once been above ground had the luxury of an existence.Overall, the place was poor cover, but that did not matter; judging form the lingering stench of death, the androids had ravaged this area mere days ago and would not return to it for some time.

More destruction---and therefore more death---could be seen ahead.Gohan knew that he should care---he always used to---but for the past three years, he had been numb.Losing every person that one cared about could have that effect on someone.Gohan's friends had all died the same day; the only consolation the boy had was that he hadn't witnessed all of the killings.Tears stung his eyes at the memory; he still had some feeling left, after all.

  


Gohan tore his gaze away from the window and forced it back upon his books.Looking outside was a painful experience; the outdoors reminded him of his father, who had died a few months before.He wasn't over it yet; he probably never would be.Without the closeness Gohan felt only with him, there was nothing but a black hole in his heart, slowly sucking his soul into nothingness.

The boy's head suddenly snapped up, his body going rigid.Several strong ki signatures crackled through the air; the others must be battling someone.Confused and alarmed, Gohan tried to determine which signal or signals belonged to the enemy.

"Vegeta…Piccolo…Kurilin…Yamucha…"He whispered off each power's owner as he recognized it.None was unfamiliar.He felt his blood run cold; the kis weren't directed against each other, so what could they be fighting?Whatever it was, it didn't seem to have any lifeforce.How was that possible?

One of the ki signatures abruptly vanished.Panicked now, Gohan shot out of his chair, sending it clattering to the floor.Ignoring the noise, he rushed over to his window, thrust it open, and leapt into the sky, a pale blue flying aura coming to life around him. 

"Gohan!"He heard his mother's voice echo from behind and below.He paid no attention to it; he had to get to the battle.Something terrible had happened.

As he streaked through the air, Gohan mentally berated himself for cutting off contact with his friends after his father's death; he might have learned of this new threat sooner and been able to prevent the killing he had just sensed.His selfish desire had cost one of his friends his life.

Another ki winked out of existence.Two friends now.This couldn't be happening.It just couldn't.Screaming in fury, Gohan flashed into Super Saiyajin for the second time in his life; the first had been when his father died, arbitrarily stolen from him by a cruel heart virus.The boy's flying aura was now golden, the same as his once-black hair, and his dark eyes shifted to a bright, merciless aquamarine.With newly released speed, he accelerated toward the battlefield.

Gohan saw it before he reached it.Flames whipped about the tops of skyscrapers; thick columns of smoke rose from the blaze, nearly blotting out the sun.Ki blasts lit the sky.In the air, a number of black dots moved with inhuman speed.As the boy watched, one dot began to plummet from the heavens, its ki dropping to nothing.

Rage pulsed through his veins like blood.Whatever was destroying his friends was going to pay; he would personally see to that.No one harmed the people he loved and got away with it.

Fiercely, Gohan forced reason into his mind.A blind attack would be sheer folly; it was the act of an undisciplined fool, and would get him into serious trouble much earlier than he could afford.It was his job to protect everyone now, since his father wasn't here to do it, and though he had failed in his duty to three of them, he would not allow himself to let down those that remained.Or his father.

He stopped a short distance from the battle to observe how it was playing out.For human eyes, the fight would not have been close enough to see, but Gohan was half Saiyajin and had the more acute senses of his extraterrestrial heritage; he picked it out easily.And he was not pleased with what he witnessed.

Vegeta, his body aglow with the golden fire of the Super Saiyajin, was locked in a furious duel with a tall, sleek figure, and seemed to be losing.The figure appeared to be female, with blonde hair cut just above her shoulders, and dressed in blue denim.She easily, even playfully, dodged each of the flurry of the Saiyajin prince's flurry of punches and kicks.This, of course, incensed Vegeta, who in response began to attack more aggressively.And more recklessly.The figure's arm whipped out with impossible speed, catching him full in the jaw and knocking him back several feet.

The struggle going on beyond that one was even less encouraging to watch.Forming an unusual-looking team, Piccolo and Kurilin simultaneously battled another figure.This one had a similar build to the first, except that it was clearly male.It casually shot its leg outward and contacted Kurilin's ribs, snapping the bones as though they were fragile twigs.A fraction of a second later, it extended its palm toward Piccolo and fired a ki blast which sent the Namekseijin flying backward and smashing into the wall of a nearby skyscraper.

Unable to wait any longer, Gohan launched himself into the fray, targeting the male figure.The young Saiyajin led with his foot and drove it down hard onto his unprepared opponent's head.As he made contact, he received a surprise of his own.

He had expected to feel the dull crunch of bone under his foot, but was met instead with the harsh clang of metal.The resulting shock of his own blow rang up Gohan's leg as he watched the figure drop several feet before catching himself.It gracefully floated up to eye level with the boy.

Gohan, still half-paralyzed by incredulity, could do little more than stare.The figure was dressed in blue jeans, and a black shirt whose collar was covered by a red scarf.His skin was quite pale, almost white, harshly contrasting with the dark, shoulder-length hair that framed his face.A cold smile was plainly visible on his thin lips.It was the eyes, though, that captured the most attention.The irises seemed much too large, and gleamed a metallic grey.They briefly flickered a pale red light.

"You must be Gohan," he stated, his voice softer than velvet.The boy's utter shock that he knew his name seemed to please the figure, who appeared to be in his late teens, and he continued, "I'm somewhat impressed with your attack; according to my data you should not have been strong enough to displace my position.But don't try to fool yourself, kid.You're far from a match for me.Here, let me show you."

The youth blurred, and before he could raise his arms in defence, Gohan was greeted with a knee in his stomach.Gasping in pain, he doubled over, then suffered a sharp blow to the back of the neck.His attacker lowered his leg, allowing him to fall.

The boy's head swam like a school of confused fish.Desperately, he struggled to maintain both consciousness and Super Saiyajin power.He willed his senses to clear, catching himself before he fell too far, and shot back upward to engage the dark-haired youth.

Blow after blow met with empty air; for all his speed, Gohan simply could not keep pace.He sent a vicious punch toward the youth's head, overextending himself because his opponent dodged, then felt a cold hand on his chest.The cold was quickly replaced by a searing heat, and the young Saiyajin screamed in agony as the ki blast propelled him backward.

Strong arms caught him, wrapped around his body.Gohan tensed at the touch, fearing another ferocious attack, but then let himself relax; the hold was gentle.Upon opening his eyes, which had squeezed shut in response to the pain, he saw large green hands encircling his torso.He permitted himself a brief smile; of course it would be his mentor.

"Hey there, kid," Piccolo said in his deep, gruff voice."You okay?"

"I'm fine."Gohan nodded, fighting off nausea caused by the scent of his burned flesh.Piccolo released him.

"Well, well.Look who's back up."Gohan and Piccolo lifted their gazes to see the dark-haired youth floating before them, smiling with amusement."You Namekseijin certainly are a resilient lot; it's a pity that you're not more entertaining.And I must say, the Saiyajin aren't doing a great deal better in that department.Just look at Vegeta; he's barely laid a finger on Eighteen."

Gohan took a quick look at the other battle, and his eyes widened in shock.The Saiyajin prince's armour was thoroughly cracked, most of it broken off completely, and what was left of his bodysuit clung to him in barely decent tatters.Blood flooded forth from several hideous gashes.Hanging limply at his side, probably broken, was his left arm.The boy heard a low female voice laugh; Vegeta's opponent was completely unhurt.

_What is she?_ Gohan wondered to himself._How can she be so strong?Vegeta's barely touched her and he looks the worst he's been since Frieza killed him back on Nameksei.Then there's the weird way that the dark-haired one referred to her…_

"Eighteen?" he asked aloud.

"Android Eighteen," a strained voice behind him clarified.Gohan turned to see Kurilin.The small man's eyes were clouded with pain, and in a few places the white bone of broken ribs punctured his orange gi."And the one in front of us is Android Seventeen.They're a couple of gifts for us, sent care of Dr. Gero."

"Dr. Gero?" Gohan repeated.The name meant nothing to him.Although, after he thought about it, he may have heard it mentioned once before…

"That's right," came Android Seventeen's smooth voice, drawing all attention back to him."The mastermind behind the old Red Ribbon Army:the one your father decimated as a boy.Eighteen and myself were created to carry out Dr. Gero's vengeance on him."

"Vengeance?"Gohan's pupilless aquamarine eyes narrowed dangerously; his golden aura blazed with a new ferocity.Each word that he spoke was a bitter growl."My father has been dead for half a year!You don't have a purpose anymore!Why are you after _us_?"

The android's smile broadened, his metallic grey eyes gleaming more brightly."It makes no difference that Goku is already dead.We still would have done this afterward, anyway.We need no purpose.This is just a game, kid; it's too bad that your friends weren't better players."

_A game!_ Gohan thought savagely._He and that cybernetic witch are slaughtering my friends!He calls that a game?Well, if he wants a better player, I'll give him one!_

Feeding off his fury the way a bonfire fed off wood, the child's aura flared into a massive, murderous corona.The shockwave blasted through buildings as though they were constructed of toothpicks.His scream of rage ripped through the heavens.

Gohan tensed, his predatory eyes focused on his prey; his stiff blond hair whipped wildly in the seething incandescence that enveloped his body.

A firm hand gripped his shoulder."Gohan, wait!" Piccolo warned."Don't…"

Angrily, the boy jerked out of his mentor's grasp.No words would deter him, and not even Piccolo was strong enough to restrain him physically; he was a Super Saiyajin, and the Namekseijin's power was to his own as a candleflame was to a supernova.Heedless of all but the need to destroy he grinning finger before him, he shot forward like a comet.

Seventeen gasped in surprise as he narrowly dodged the punch that Gohan threw at his face.Unsated and uncontrollable, the boy launched his leg forward, snarling ferociously as his opponent vanished just before his foot could make contact with his chest.The young Saiyajin instantly spun about in a roundhouse, intending to catch Seventeen where he had reappeared at his rear, but was still to slow.A knee slammed into the underside of his chin, nearly breaking his jaw; the force of the blow sent him tumbling backward across the sky.

Gohan managed to stop himself a fraction of a second before his body crashed into the side of what must once have been the tallest skyscraper in the city.Loose chunks of concrete were jarred from their precarious perches by his aura, and plummeted to become part of the multitudinous piles of rubble on the ground.A coppery flavour flooded the child's mouth.Blood.Distastefully, he spat it off to one side.Focusing his eyes ahead, he saw Seventeen floating in front of him.Even at the distance that separated the two, it was clear that the android was no longer smiling; the expression on his face was one of shocked anger.

"Where did all that come from?" the young Saiyajin heard him wonder."He shouldn't have been able to get that close to hitting me; it seems that Dr. Gero's data was way off for Gohan. Not that I can't handle the kid anyway, though.It's time he learned his lesson about jumping into a battle that he can't win."

That was the boy's only warning; Seventeen vanished, then instantaneously reappeared in front of him.Somehow, he managed to raise his arm in time to block the kick, but it helped little; the sheer force of the blow drove him into the wall.Concrete dust rained down upon his body, invaded his breathing passages.Gohan coughed violently and tried to focus his attention on the battle.

He wasn't able to do so.Brutal impact after brutal impact concussed his stomach, chest and skull.Volumes of air were forced out of his lungs, accompanied by mouthfuls of blood.He couldn't breathe.He couldn't think.Panicked instinct taking control, he lashed out blindly.

He felt his knee connect with something.An exclamation of pain echoed in his ears; Gohan'smind was too foggy to register whether the cry had come from his opponent's lips or his own.Regardless, the boy opened his palm and fired the most powerful ki blast he could currently muster; it managed to push his attacker away from him.

Hacking and dazed, Gohan levitated himself above the ruined building.His head throbbed so hard that it felt as though it were still absorbing blows.Pieces of broken ribs ground together; sticky blood covered his chin like a smear of crimson paint.His power began to wane, and he struggled to maintain it.Golden hair darkened to black, then brightened again.It flickered back and forth between the two colours like a sky that had trouble deciding whether it should be day or night.

In the end, night won out.The boy's hair and aura dropped, his eyes once again dark; he hadn't the strength left to retain Super Saiyajin form.Looking up and trying to focus his bleary vision, he thought he saw a look of anger on Android Seventeen's face; it appeared that there was a thin rivulet of red running from the corner of the machine's mouth.Blood, maybe?It seemed odd that an android would bleed…

"You're going to pay for that lucky shot, you vicious little brat!" Seventeen snarled.He faced his palms outward, bringing the heels of his hands together.A ki blast began to form; it started as a pinpoint of light, but grew rapidly into a luminous ball bigger than the handspan.Lightning danced around the ball, increasing in violence as each second passed.

Gohan tensed, sensing doom; he knew that he wouldn't be able to move quickly enough to avoid the discharge of energy, and bereft as he was of the toughness of the Super Saiyajin body, there was little doubt that it would kill him.He thought briefly of Piccolo and Kurilin, how he hated to leave them…But then he thought about his father, and how much he missed him; he would soon see him again.Calmed now, the child awaited the embrace of pain that would end his life.

Otousan.I'm coming to see you.We'll be together again soon… 

He saw the ki blast shoot forth from the android's palms.A panicked voice shouted his name.Suddenly, there was a figure in his line of vision.A figure in the path of the blast.Gohan's eyes widened in horror as he realized what was happening.From behind, large arms wrapped around him, pulling him against a well-muscled body, and twisted him away from the attack so that body could bear its brunt.Three screams, two deep and one high, rent the heavens with their hideous harmony of agony.

Gohan and the person holding him---Piccolo, the boy had time to realize---went limp and fell spiralling to the ground; a cloud of dust and debris rose around them, the tiny pieces of concrete then trickling down upon their bodies.

The boy greyed out for a moment.When he roused, he sucked in a sharp breath; his side felt as though it had been set afire.Piccolo's heavy form lay atop him, restricting his breathing.Grunting with the effort, Gohan pushed his mentor's dead weight over to one side.

**_Dead_**_ weight?No…_

The child scrambled to his knees, terrified, and placed his small hands on the Namekseijin's broad shoulder.Shakily, he whispered, "Piccolo?Piccolo!"When no response came, he began to frantically shake the shoulder, tears cutting clear paths down his dirt-covered face, brokenly pleading, "You've got to wake up!Piccolo, please!_Please…_"Gohan trailed off into incoherent sobs.

His mentor's ki had vanished; he was dead.

Gohan didn't want to see it:the wound that had killed Piccolo.But he made himself look anyway.A gaping hole dominated where the Namekseijin's stomach had once been; thin trails of purple blood radiated out in several directions from the cavity, and leftover smoke from the ki blast continued to hiss upward, the last sound that the body would ever make.Forcing his eyes up, the boy stared blankly at the smaller body that lay a short distance away; the ki blast, because of its width, had cut it in half.There was no need to search for its ki; Gohan knew it wouldn't be there.

Kurilin was dead as well.

_They're gone.Gone.The android was aiming at **me**.**I** should have died.Not them._

Piccolo; first his father's worst enemy, then his own mentor and best friend.He had treated Gohan harshly during the battle against the Saiyajins, growling at him to get a backbone or get lost, but the boy had seen through that; the once-evil Namekseijin was simply afraid to show or admit that he cared about someone.Such fears did not stop him from taking Nappa's lethal blast in the child's place, though.Before he'd died, he had told Gohan how proud he was of him and that he was the only real friend that he'd ever had.On Nameksei, he'd rescued the boy several times:deflecting the burst of Gohan's own power that Frieza had turned back, sweeping him out of the path of a stray ki bolt as Goku battled the intergalactic tyrant, catching him when the massive shockwave of an explosion would have sent him hurtling into the airless void of space…And now he was gone again, dying the same way as he had the first time:protecting Gohan.

Kurilin…Had there been a more constant companion?He'd stood by Gohan every step of the way:speaking encouraging words to him during his first battle, joining him to seek the Dragonballs on Nameksei despite the terrible presence of Frieza, helping to fight the most powerful beings in the universe even though he knew he was the one who was the quickest and easiest to destroy…He'd been someone who had never been at a loss for something to do, from his plan to cut Vegeta's tail during the battle with the Saiyajins, to using the _taiyoken_ technique on Nameksei to escape the bloated and spiky monster that had been Dodoria, to distracting Vegeta while Gohan raced to have his hidden potential released; things didn't always work out, but at least Kurilin had always been ready to act.This time, acting had exacted a terrible price; now he would act no more. Rage and emptiness waged war in the boy's heart.There should have been no question as to which the victor would be; normally, he would have flown into a passion, seeking to destroy whatever had the temerity to strike down his friends.Now, though, the void seemed to have gained the advantage.His two closest friends had traded their lives for his.

Shaking his head, Gohan rose to his feet.Those demonic androids had to be stopped; if they weren't, they would torture the planet to death.He summoned his power, feeling his hair whip in the updraft of his aura; both were golden once more as the strength of the Super Saiyajin flowed through his body.Aquamarine eyes scanned the situation above.

A sharp-voiced cry rang out and a blur shot to the ground, slamming into it with such force that the resulting concussion nearly caused him to lose his footing.Dust clouded the air a short distance away; as it cleared, he could see Vegeta propping himself up on his good arm, eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted against pain, blood running down his face from several cuts in his forehead.Android Eighteen laughed in her low, sultry voice and launched herself toward his prone body.

Knowing that hesitation would prove fatal, Gohan rushed to Vegeta's aid; the boy managed to catch the android by surprise and knock her aside.She crashed into a pile ofrubble, which promptly proceeded to bury her, if only for a moment.The boy tensed as she extricated herself and heard Vegeta move behind him. The latter was good; he was well aware that he would need help to win this battle.Despite the Saiyajin prince's condition, he would still be able to fight; his fierce pride would never allow him to stop before he was dead.

"Out of my way, brat!"A powerful hand gripped the boy's arm, yanking him backward, and he was met with the sight of Vegeta climbing unsteadily to his feet."I fight my battles alone!I don't need any help from an upstart halfbreed!"

"But…"

"I think you should take him up on his offer, little man," Android Eighteen suggested mockingly."You've got so little power that you're no fun; maybe fighting the two of you together would be more entertaining."She paused for a moment, fixing her expressionless gaze upon Gohan.Her lips curled upward in a derisive smile."Then again…"

The Saiyajin prince bared his teeth, snarling viciously."I don't need that brat's help to defeat you, android!I'll do it myself!When I'm finished with you, there won't be enough scrap metal left to make a can opener!"

Vegeta crouched and closed his eyes, raising his ki; a golden aura of power blazed to life around him.After a few seconds, his eyes snapped open and he shot forward, intending to drive his fist through Eighteen's stomach.Gohan was about to make a move to aid him---his senses had told him that he himself had more energy left than did the Saiyajin prince---but a smooth chuckle from his rear halted him, and he turned.

"And what do you think _you're_ doing?" Android Seventeen asked teasingly, his slender arms crossed."You heard Vegeta; he doesn't want your help.It would be rude of you to intrude on his fight.Besides, weren't you and I in the middle of something?You need to learn to finish what you start, kid."

The boy tensed, a grim look on his face._What do I do now?I can't beat him alone…_Brought on by fear, tremors worked their way through his small body.He struggled to keep the evidence of his fright from showing in his eyes.It wasn't as though he'd never faced death before; he had several times, and it should no longer frighten him.If he was about to die, he would do so fighting.

Seventeen rushed him.Gohan, moving with a speed he did not know he possessed, blocked each blow, but his arms paid a price with every impact; he could hear and feel small snaps as bone began to crack bit by bit.Dodging a punch, the boy blasted into the sky and raised both hands above his head, the back of one flat against the palm of the other.He began to channel his ki into them.

"Masen…"A heavy blow to his back cut him short; the channelled ki dissipated.He twisted about as he fell, gritting his teeth in pain.He raised his hands again… and was met with Seventeen's fist in his stomach.His body slammed through a pile of rubble and shocking agony racked every bone; he couldn't remember the last time that something had hurt this much.

Dizzily, the child tried to rise.His power was gone now; it took concentration to maintain Super Saiyajin strength, and he needed all he had just to remain conscious… but he had to keep going.He _had_ to.

A foot pressed against his throat, forcing him back down.Gohan went limp, exhausted and too weak even to struggle.The pressure increased, cutting off his air supply.Blackness formed in his peripheral vision and slowly started to creep into his main line of sight.Dimly, he heard a strangled cry and felt a ki extinguish; the part of his mind that could still function registered this as Vegeta's death.The pain in the boy's head subsided, replaced by an almost pleasant lightness.Whatever small amount of pleasure he could have derived from that sensation was torn away by one thought:an awful one that cycled over and over through his brain, the only thing in his darkening world that had any meaning.

I failed them.I failed them… 

He lost time.How much, he didn't and never would know.Blearily, Gohan opened his eyes, staring at the clear blue sky above him.He felt surprisingly little pain, considering that in all likelihood he was supposed to be dead; lying still for a few moments granted him the energy and clearheadedness that were necessary for him to rise.Nausea swept through him when he reached his knees, and he doubled over, shuddering.It took all of his willpower to keep from vomiting, but he did, and he slowly lifted his head.

Looking at the devastation, it was difficult to imagine that the area in which he knelt had once been a city.Nothing but piles of concrete, glass, and other assorted debris were visible; not a single structure remained standing.Broken limbs from a few trees littered the space among the heaps of rubble; great, dusty craters pockmarked the ground.A soft breeze whistled through the air, the only sound that broke the silence.A silence that was unnatural.Cities, especially ones as large as this one had been, would normally have been filled with the bustling sounds of everyday life:people talking on the streets, engines rumbling as cars sped past, motorists honking horns and yelling at those in front of them to get moving… but now it was just that quiet, lonely wind.The air, once fresh, was now clouded over with a miasma of smoke and death.

Empty, the place was, the same as Gohan's heart as he picked out the dark spots that were the bodies of his friends.Strangely, the boy did not feel the urge to cry; perhaps the well of his tears, which had provided his eyes with the sorrowful, salty water unfailingly throughout his life, had finally gone dry.He felt only an odd numbness, coming from the knowledge that he had failed to protect those he loved.

Rising to his feet, still unsteady, he turned and began to stagger away.He didn't know where he was going, and didn't much care at that point; he just needed to leave the killing field.He couldn't go home, couldn't go to his mother.How could he face her, or anybody, when he had failed to save his friends?Always, in the eyes of anyone he knew, would be the knowledge that he was the only one left.The only one.And he shouldn't have been.

No, it was better by far to leave everyone; they wouldn't see the deaths of all their friends in his face, that way.He wouldn't cause them any further pain.Let their grief dull over time; they didn't deserve the anguish.He was the one who had failed; all the agony should be his.

It was all that he had left, anyway.

A violent concussion rocked the earth, jolting Gohan out the past.Daring to stand a little straighter, he scanned the area ahead of him to see what was happening.His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened; he might have known.

Against the fading late-afternoon light, he could see two dark forms in the sky; the forms were sleek and glided with a deadly, programmed grace.Below them, frantic feet scrabbled across the dirt, and panicked arms flailed through the air as a few dozen people tried desperately to escape their ends.

It was a favourite game of the androids:using a large ki blast to frighten a few stragglers, then casually picking them off the way a hunter picked off flushed rabbits. The android has no rules, and the humans had only one:do whatever it takes to live.That rule took precedence over all else, basic decency included.If someone was in the way, he was shoved aside; if someone tripped, he was trampled.Staying alive was all that mattered.

Gohan watched the scene in a way that his old self would not have been able to understand:detachedly, without a trace of anger or pity.Such feelings had died with his friends those three years before.The people who constituted the prey of the androids would receive no help from him; he'd learned that it was far better to stay out of the way.Sighing in resignation, the boy huddled in the deeply shadowed corner of his hiding place---and stopped suddenly, his brow furrowed in curiosity.

Among the dozens of faint ki signatures of the humans, one plainly stood out, rather a bit more powerful than the rest.Quite odd, this was; its owner seemed to have the strength of a very formidable human fighter.But there were no such humans left…

Intrigued, Gohan rose again, just far enough for his eyes to clear ground level.He allowed his senses to guide his gaze, searching for the power's source.A moment later, her found it, as a small figure caught his attention.

Deftly dodging around the legs of the stream of terrified innocents was a tiny, pale-haired child, no more than a toddler.His frame was slight; his eyes were a striking shade of blue.The amount of ki that radiated from his body was impossible to miss.

A flash of familiarity struck Gohan as he stared at the toddler._It couldn't be…_

Thin shafts of ki began to rain down, some intended to scare and some intended to kill.One by one, the stragglers fell, small holes burned through their hearts.Each time, the toddler smoothly evaded the collapsing bodies, but he was quickly becoming the tallest target; it wouldn't be long before the androids took aim at him.

An old instinct suddenly surged through Gohan, urging him to rescue the child. He stopped short, chastising himself. _What can I do?I'm no use in protecting anybody.If I were, the others wouldn't have been killed.The kid will die with or without my help, so why even bother?_

The last adult fell, and this time the toddler was not nimble enough to dodge it; he too went down, uttering a frightened yelp.Slowly, the androids drifted to the ground to survey the results of their game more closely.Their cold, too-large eyes apparently hadn't seen him yet, but it wouldn't be long before they did; with a great effort, the small child started to crawl out from under the corpse which lay atop him.

The instinct came again, stronger this time, and still, Gohan fought it._I can't help him… _His mind twisted into a knot of indecision.He saw Android Eighteen turn her head and smile wickedly as she noticed the child.

Eyes narrowed to slits, hands clenched into fists, jaws set into a vice, Gohan made his choice.

  



	2. 

Disclaimer: Once again, Dragonball Z does not belong to me, though I wish it did, and not just for the money; I mean for the 

**Disclaimer:**Once again, Dragonball Z does not belong to me, though I wish it did, and not just for the money; I mean for the fact that it is a truly fantastic story.As it is, this is the only story I own so far, but I'm sure that you don't want to hear me ramble and would much rather continue to read it.

The Burden of Hope

CHAPTER TWO:"I Thought We Killed You!"The Survivor Intervenes!

The humans weren't much fun today.

Android Eighteen sighed in boredom and tucked loose strands of blonde hair behind her ear.A hoarse shout to her left drew her attention; she casually turned to see a human woman, made even more pitiful-looking than normal by her ragged clothes and tangled hair, rushing toward her with a cocked fist.Lazily, the android pointed a slender, delicate finger and fired a laser-thin beam; it burned through the human's forehead with the same ease as burning through a sheet of paper.Eyes now forever wide in surprise, the human dropped to the ground.That had been, Eighteen decided, mildly entertaining.

Looking up, she found that her brother was having no trouble amusing himself.Seventeen let fly blast after blast, bringing buildings crashing down upon the humans' heads; he waded into groups of the filthy creatures, killing them with short, sharp blows as he laughed wildly and called out mock-apologies.He was such a child.

"Hey!Aren't you through yet, Seventeen?" Eighteen asked irritably, placing her hands on her hips."This is getting boring!"

Seventeen turned his head her way, not bothering to drop the human youth that he held by the throat; the youth made faint choking noises, feet dangling inches off the ground, hands clenched ineffectually around the android's wrist."Boring?You call this boring?You've forgotten how to have fun, Eighteen.I suggest you loosen up before you rust."

"Oh, shut up!" she shot back.Her head raised as she heard a soft sound from behind her; she smiled cruelly."Hey, we missed some.Come on; let's make this batch more fun than the rest."

Seventeen shifted his gaze onto the ragged group of humans to which his sister had referred.Nonchalantly, he dropped his current victim."So, what did you have in mind?"

In answer, Eighteen leapt into the sky, fluidly twisting her lithe body to face the pathetic creatures who foolishly believed that they could escape by moving quietly.She lifted both hands above her head, gathering her pseudo-ki into a brightly flickering golden ball; she held it for a few seconds, then released it.

The blast tore through the ground just beside the fleeing humans; screaming in terror, the bedraggled masses abandoned stealth for speed and tripped over each other in their pitiable attempts to retreat.A few of them stumbled and fell, but most managed to break into a run.The panic-stricken were always more fun than the prone, so Eighteen flew after them, chuckling softly; her brother took up the chase as well.

The two androids glided low over their prey, thoroughly delighted by the fearful glances that the humans darted at them every few seconds.To the humans, the pursuit seemed to last forever, but in actuality, it only continued for a few moments.Then it turned into a slaughter.Seventeen and Eighteen pointed slender index fingers and fired thin beams of pseudo-ki, counting ten points for every kill.Only a few stragglers remained by the time they reached a once-populated area that was empty even of ruins; only deep holes marked the locations of dwellings.

"Two hundred and thirty," Seventeen tallied as the last human, a dark-haired male, dropped lifelessly to the ground.The android landed gracefully amid the scattered corpses.

"Unbelievable," Eighteen muttered irritably."He always wins this game."She landed near the last kill, cursing her mere two hundred and ten points as she surveyed the dead.

A small movement caught her eye; looking down, she saw the body of the last kill start to shift.Her first thought was that Seventeen had missed his mark and had only two hundred twenty points, but then she noticed a tiny had claw its way out from under the limp form.This hand was followed by a head of pale hair---a shade that humans may have called lavender---that was cut in a short sweep.Eighteen smiled wickedly.

_How nice,_ she thought._A child._

She waited as the child pulled himself clear of the corpse and slowly lifted his gaze.Her smile broadened as his deep blue eyes filled with fear at the sight of her.With elaborate slowness, she stepped closer to him; he shrank away only slightly, unlike most humans, who buried their faces in the dirt and waited for the end.Eighteen found herself mildly impressed.

"Well," she began softly."Aren't you a cute little thing.And all alone now, too.You poor baby; you must be lonely.Don't worry; you won't be by yourself for much longer."

She arched her leg back, preparing to deliver a kick to the child's head; he cringed, squeezing his eyes shut in anticipation of the blow.Amused, Eighteen paused, and waited until she saw him cautiously open one eye.Her smile more cruel than ever, she shot her leg forward---

---and an intense golden light blazed in front of her; the kick connected with a blocking arm.

Eighteen pulled her leg back, startled.Standing protectively in front of the young boy was an older one, scarcely into his teens.His frame was well-muscled without being bulky, and his face bore an expression of grim defiance.His eyes---a pale colour humans would have called aquamarine---locked on hers.Waving in the flaming yellow aura that surrounded his body was a shock of short, stiff blond hair.

Thinking that he looked familiar, Eighteen scanned her memory bank; old files sprang up, and an image of a long-ago battle flashed through her circuits.She gasped softly as recognition came.It couldn't be him; he was dead.They were _all_ dead…

"You!" she exclaimed, half-surprised and half-angry."I thought we killed you!"

"Well, we apparently didn't finish the job," Seventeen said calmly, coming to stand beside her.The blond adolescent's eyes darted a glance at him."It's nice to see you again, Gohan."

I must be crazy… 

Gohan stood before the two androids, a living wall between them and the toddler.His body wanted to quiver in remembered fear, but he would not allow it; he could not afford to become distracted.Android Eighteen stared at him with a mixture of shock and rage, while Android Seventeen regarded him with amusement.From behind, he heard a soft scuffling sound; the toddler had scrambled backward a bit, unnerved by his sudden appearance and the golden nimbus around him.

Android Eighteen's expression slowly changed to a chilly smile."Nice indeed," she said softly in response to her brother's earlier statement."And how noble of you:coming to the aid of a helpless little boy.Too bad, though; you'll give up your life doing this and the kid will die anyway.Such a pity."

Her leg swung out again.Jumping the kick, Gohan somersaulted over the toddler and knelt beside him.Hastily, he gathered the small child into his arms and blasted into the sky just before a bolt of pseudo-ki obliterated the ground on which they had been.Playfully, both androids followed.

The young Super Saiyajin twisted his body about to evade Seventeen's punch and Eighteen's knee, the toddler's fingers clutching his clothes fearfully as he did so.A sharp blow to the base of his spine dropped him a few feet; taking advantage of the fact that he was no longer surrounded, Gohan shot forward, searching for shelter.

He chanced a look back; both androids sped along behind him at what he assumed was, for them, a leisurely pace, their shoulder-length hair streaming in the wind.Gritting his teeth, he focused his eyes ahead again.He was flying at close to his maximum velocity, and it wouldn't be long before Seventeen and Eighteen got close enough to pummel him senseless---or lifeless.It didn't matter which; either way, he would fail his task. 

No.He wouldn't fail.Not this time.

Gohan glanced down at his charge.Apparently having forgotten the seriousness of the situation, the toddler had his angular blue eyes directed wonderingly at the ground; he was quite obviously entranced with being in flight.Irritated at the younger boy's ignorance, but also---strangely---fighting the urge to smile, Gohan spoke above the roaring wind in his ears, "Hang on tight, kid."

He channelled his ki through his body; a bright flash of gold briefly lit the sky, a shockwave radiated out in all directions, and he reached his full speed.The toddler squealed in surprise and dug his fingers into Gohan's flesh; amazingly, this almost hurt._He's got awfully strong fingers for being so young,_ the older boy thought._He has to be…_

A startled gasp escaped his lips as a blast of pseudo-ki narrowly missed his head.Another beam grazed his arm.Desperately scanning the landscape, his aquamarine eyes darted about in search of a place to hide; the androids were getting bored with him and that meant, if he couldn't find concealment, both he and the child would die.

Below, dead blades of grass swayed slightly in what must have been a gentle breeze.Entire copses of once-towering trees lay in broken tangles, each trunk appearing as though it had been split by a great, Kami-hurled lightning bolt.The highway that once, a mere few years ago, served as a link between cities, looked as if a massive giant had chosen to trod upon its pathetically fragile concrete on his ramblings across the land.In the distance, to either side of the remnants of the road, heaven-piercing spires rose out of canyons like stone fingers.Overall, the wide-open scene was unsympathetic; it refused to offer any scrap of shelter.

"Perfect," Gohan spat bitterly."Just perfect.Now what am I supposed to do?Those first two blasts were warning shots; the next time those mechanical demons fire, they aren't going to plan on missing!"

Confirming this statement, two more beams raced toward him.Twisting his body more quickly than any human could hope to do, Gohan barely dodged them; he felt their heat on his cheeks as they passed.He didn't have time to relax, though; a furious volley of pseudo-ki turned the sky into an expanse of lethal, lurid light, and he was forced into nanosecond-long evasions.

It seemed a miracle that none of the beams scored a direct hit; one grazed his arm and a few clipped his hair, but that was all.He heard the toddler utter a high-pitched shriek of pain, but now was hardly the time to check on his injury; the fact that the child clung to him even more tightly was proof that whatever wound he'd suffered was not severe.

To both his relief and dismay, the late-afternoon sky reverted to its normal magenta-tinged blue; the androids had obviously grown bored with trying to blast him out of the air.They had always found it more enjoyable to kill though physical contact, which meant that Gohan had very little time to find cover before they decided to catch up with him.

As he looked up, thankfulness almost did the androids' job for them; a partially restored city lay just ahead.Using speed he didn't know he had, he streaked toward the outskirts.He shot past the first few small buildings---

---and pulled up sharply; floating a mere two feet in front of him, arms crossed and eyes cold, was Android Seventeen.

"Hello again," the machine greeted."You're awfully nimble today; I didn't expect you to make it this far.But I'm afraid you won't be going any further."

"It was a nice chase, though," came a sultry voice from his rear.Glancing back, Gohan saw Android Eighteen's demonically beautiful face."This is the most fun we've had in a long time.It's too bad that you and your little friend won't be able to entertain us again."

Before Gohan could move, Seventeen backhanded him across his face.Pain exploded through his cheek as he felt his body begin to plummet.His grip on the toddler loosened, but he managed to maintain it.Twisting himself so that he faced upward, the adolescent Super Saiyajin slammed through the roof of a building, then onto the ground; a grunt of pain escaped him with each impact.

Like smoke from a bonfire, clouds of dust billowed up from the crater they'd formed; the pale-haired child coughed violently as debris entered his lungs.Wasting no time on pity for the boy, Gohan extended his arm to one side, palm facing outward; he fired a golden ball of ki at the nearest wall.Concrete blasted apart and more dust filled the air, mingling neatly with that which already obscured the androids' vision.

Scrambling to his feet, he kept the hacking toddler tucked under one arm and darted through the opening he'd just created.His legs unconsciously followed the path of the cloud, ensuring that he remained out of sight.The air started to clear and he took advantage of his last moment or so of invisibility to find the ever-elusive thing known as cover.Finding nothing better than a recessed doorway, he hurriedly ducked into the deep shadows.

Carefully, Gohan knelt and set the toddler down beside him.The small boy was still coughing, his left hand propping him up and his right holding the base of his throat.With each heave of his chest, dirt fell in a fine mist from his filthy lavender hair.Gently, the adolescent boy patted his back, helping to clear his breathing passages.

"Curse those brats!Where have they gone?"Android Eighteen's furious voice caused Gohan to freeze."This is all your fault, Seventeen!You should have gone after them as soon as they crashed through that roof!"

"Knock it off!" Seventeen snapped sharply."I don't need any fighting tips, all right?Besides, it isn't like _you_ couldn't have done anything!"

"Oh!As if you ever like it when I interfere with your fun!The one time I stay out of your way, you mess everything up!You're an incredible waste of good circuitry!"

"_I'm_ a waste of circuitry?At least my programming doesn't require me to go into those ridiculous human shops to try on clothes for two hours!"

"Shut up!You just don't have any fashion sense."Eighteen's voice was shattered with impatience."Now let's get back to the runts.I say we just bomb the whole area; that will draw those two out of hiding."

The concussion from the first blast caused both Gohan and the now steadily-breathing toddler to lose their balance.As the ground continued to shudder as though the same giant who'd trampled the highway had decided to visit the city, Gohan crawled over to the younger boy and shielded the tiny body with his larger one.Beneath him, he could feel the child tremble nearly violently enough to rival the earth. 

"Try to stay calm," the adolescent whispered to his charge as loud as he dared."if you can do that, then they won't find us."

A heavy chunk of concrete glanced off Gohan's back; the androids had turned their attention to the shelter-giving building.The adolescent pulled himself and the toddler into a sitting position in the doorway as the structure above avalanched upon them like a relentless stone rain.

When the rumbling stopped, Gohan slowly opened his eyes.Darkness enveloped his vision; only a few slivers of light managed to pierce through the cracks of the walls of rock that surrounded him. He released his small companion, who cautiously crawled out of his lap.

"Who…" the child began, but Gohan hushed him; he heard two pairs of soft footsteps from outside.Peering through a crack, he saw blue denim over slender legs.

The androids.

"Well, I hope you're happy, Seventeen!They probably got away and it's all your fault!"Eighteen scolded.

"Don't start that again!" Seventeen retorted."Look, if we missed them, we'll just get them the next time they turn up.It'll give us something fun to do later."

"Yeah, I guess," Eighteen conceded, mollified."So what now?"

"Let's go home.Come on."

The legs in Gohan's vision slowly levitated, then vanished completely.Several long minutes passed in perfect silence.Once he was satisfied that the androids had left, he turned his attention back to his companion."I think it's safe, now.Let's get out of here."

"Who are you?" the toddler asked, finishing his earlier question.Though his voice was not a whisper, it was nonetheless quite soft.

"I'll tell you once we get out," Gohan replied shortly."Now stand back."

Scooting the child out of the way, he rose to his full height.Spikes of golden hair bent as they pressed against the ceiling of rubble; had he reached his pubescent growth spurt, he would not have been able to stand up straight.Calmly, he lifted his hand and splayed his fingers.A searing bolt of ki shot forth from his palm; rock debris blasted away like discarded trash in a hurricane.

Turning around, he saw that the toddler had huddled against the ruined building's door, trembling in fear of the display of power he'd just witnessed.Gohan took a step forward, and the younger boy tried to slide back a little further, only managing to press his back more firmly against the portal.

"It's all right," Gohan said soothingly, letting himself slip out of Super Saiyajin; he looked far less threatening with his natural dark hair and dark eyes."I wouldn't have helped you if I were going to hurt you."

The two stared at each other for a long moment, neither one daring even to twitch for fear of sparking an unwanted reaction from the other.At last, the little boy inched out of the shadows and stood.The feeling of familiarity struck Gohan again; he was now certain ofthe child's identity.There was no way to mistake it:the slim build; the lack of stature---even for his age; the sharp, regal features, the cerulean eyes…

"My question?" the small child prompted softly.

"Hmm?Oh, right."Gohan jolted himself out of his musings."My name is Gohan.And you would be…" he trailed off, though he was quite sure that he knew how to finish the statement; he wanted to hear the confirmation of his conclusion straight from the source.After a brief silence, he received it; the toddler hesitantly spoke.

"My name is Trunks."


	3. Loss Of A Child; An Idea's Conception

Disclaimer: We've been through this twice before, but here it is again: I own no part of DBZ, so don't sue

**Disclaimer:**We've been through this twice before, but here it is again:I own no part of DBZ, so don't sue.

The Burden of Hope

CHAPTER THREE:Loss of a Child; An Idea's Conception

Bulma reached up a grimy hand and wiped away the wet film that had formed in her eyes.No.She would not cry; she was stronger than that.Heaving a heavy-hearted sigh, she raised her bowed head and surveyed the destruction around her.

_Curse them, _she seethed silently._Curse them until their circuits catch fire and melt their smooth-skinned faces and slim bodies into putrid, sparking puddles._

Smoke curled upward in thick columns from ground and building alike and coalesced into an oppressive, low-hanging cloud.Former structures lay in a scattered array of formless piles.Pockmarking the ground like massive inverted anthills were innumerable craters.And like ants themselves who had lost their homes, the remaining people scurried about in chaotic disarray.

None of these things, however, was the cause of Bulma's nearly-shed tears.With the world being what it was, it would be foolish to weep over so trivial a matter as the decimation of a city.But perhaps her reason was just as foolish; it wasn't as though what was happening to her were uncommon.She didn't care, though; she was allowed to feel any way she very well pleased and Kami help anyone who dared attempt to deny her that right.

Carefully schooling her features into an expression of hardened determination, she stiffly walked forward.She winced as pain radiated through her kneecaps with each step; they were probably bruised, she mused irascibly, remembering being pushed to the ground by some mannerless oaf.And that had been when…

Bulma stopped abruptly, tears once more stinging her blue eyes and rimming them in ugly red; she shook her head to dispel the unwanted sensation, the continued walking.

That had been when, her mind continued, she'd lost sight of Trunks.When she'd looked up again---after the androids had flown off, of course---she'd found only a few other people around.And her little boy had not been among them.

_"If the bad robots come and you can't see Mama, you run away and hide…"_Her frequent instructions to her son came back to her.Obviously, he had heeded her words---and put himself in more danger because of it.Blast it, why did Trunks have to be so obedient?What kind of four-year-old always did what his mother told him?

So swathed in thought was Bulma that she was brought back to reality only by the feeling of her legs harshly bumping into something metallic.She squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth against the annoying sensation of pain.Looking down, she sighed in exasperation; how was it, that in a city-confined apocalypse where not even dirt had escaped destruction, the aircar remained intact?

Disgustedly, she wiped away the sticky remains of an orange from the top of the front seat.Various other fruits, long loaves of bread, and leaking jugs of milk lay across the seats, reminders of the shockwave of the first explosion.In normal times, it would be strange to thing that tragedy could strike during an outing to do some grocery shopping---but these were not normal times.Or perhaps they were, now; a few short years of living in fear of the androids made it difficult to remember that life had once been simple, that the world had once been beautiful…

Bulma opened the aircar's door and watched as a few pieces of fruit rolled onto the ground at her feet.Carefully, she climbed over them, sat down, and closed the door beside her.Unbidden, her eyes flicked toward the seat next to her.The seat that had beenoccupied by Trunks.A wave of fury swept through her, and she once again cursed the androids for taking away her little boy.She felt like throwing something, but gunned the engine instead.Nothing within reach was worth throwing; food, at best, made a sickening splat and provided none of the satisfaction of a metallic crash.Once she arrived home, she would have a wide variety of worthy projectiles at her disposal.

As she drove, ash-coated winds whipped her pale hair about; Bulma told herself that it was also responsible for the stinging sensation in her eyes.She kept her gaze focused ahead, determined not to look at either the adjacent seat or the scattering of dead bodies which lay strewn all over the ground; combining these sights conjured up bad memories.

Three years.Give or take a few weeks, that was how long it had been since the androids first attacked.The whole thing had been a surprise, to say the least; nothing had threatened Earth since Frieza had shown up a few years before.By the time the androids appeared, Goku---their prime target---was already dead, so they were free to torture the planet as they saw fit; they struck with unbelievable power.

It wasn't as though there had been no hope; Goku may have been gone, but Vegeta had attained the level of Super Saiyajin, and Bulma had been told that little Gohan had as well, upon his father's death.There should have been no problem.After all, what could possibly defeat the two most powerful beings alive?

Apparently, two beings that were not alive.

Bulma bit her lip, nearly drawing blood, as she remembered going to the city the day after the attack; the explosions had stopped in the early afternoon, and she'd expected Vegeta---who had been his usual arrogant self as he left---to return to the Capsule Corporation, make a few haughty comments about "pathetic, weakling creatures", and go back to training in the gravity chamber.His failure to do so had prompted great worry.

Visions assaulted her eyes with painful vividness:city streets empty of human life; scavenger birds crowding and feasting upon deceased flesh; bloody, empty-eyed corpses…none bloodier than Vegeta's.

Vegeta.Where on Earth had he gotten the nerve to go off and die, leaving her to raise Trunks all by herself?Granted, Bulma had usually seen little enough of him---he'd always spent so much time in that blasted gravity chamber, for all the good _that_ did him in the end---but she knew that he would have been involved in their son's life.Even if it would have been only to train Trunks, there would have at least been common ground on which father and son could have built a relationship.Perhaps even grown to care about one another.

But no such things could happen; Vegeta was dead.Like Yamucha, whose flesh in some places had been burned down to the bone beneath.Like Kurilin, whose small body had seemed somehow smaller, and a moment later was discovered to be in two pieces. Like Piccolo, who she'd never liked much, but for whom she'd felt a great sadness as she'd seen the enormous hole punched through his broad chest.

Like Gohan.

Bulma swallowed a lump in her throat, feeling a profound sorrow; Gohan had only been a little boy, no more than ten years old.She knew that he had gone to the battle---Chichi's frantic phone call on the afternoon of the attack, asking if Bulma knew where her "baby" had gone confirmed this---but she had not found his body.His was the only one missing.The possible reason for that---Bulma knew enough about ki blasts to know that powerful ones could have a _very_ nasty effect on molecular structure---was too grim to think about.She'd tried to comfort a grief-stricken Chichi by saying that maybe no news was good news, but now… Now too much time had passed.Suffice it to say that Gohan too was almost certainly a casualty.

_And now those thrice-cursed monsters have robbed another mother of her son._

The massive dome of the Capsule Corporation facility slowly rose into view in front of Bulma, like the moon coming to its zenith before the sky turned black.Pulling up beside it, she was nonplussed at the sight of her mother rushing forward to meet her; she had hoped not to have to break the news about Trunks to her parents as soon as she got home.She'd wanted to work off her frustration first, to dull the knife of pain in her heart so that the telling would be easier.Fortune just was not her friend today.

"Bulma-chan!" her mother shouted, her high-pitched voice edged with relief.As Bulma slowly exited the aircar and stood, the older woman threw her arms around her neck, then pulled away slightly, hands now grasping her daughter's shoulders."Your father and I were so worried; we were listening to the radio and heard about the attack.For a while, we were afraid that you and Trunks-chan wouldn't make it back!"

"Um…Okaasan…" Bulma tried, but her mother wasn't paying attention; she'd removed her hands from her daughter's shoulders and begun searching around the aircar, confused.

"Trunks-chan?Where are you?" she called."Come on out and give Obaasan a big hug hello!"

"Okaasan…" Bulma began again, gently placing her hand on her mother's back to draw the older woman's attention.Swallowing, she tried to force out the words."Trunks… he… you see…"

Her mother cocked her head, concernedly."Bulma-chan, what's wrong?Where's Trunks?"

Though she tried to stop them, tears welled up in her bright blue eyes, making them seem even brighter.She whirled away from her mother and kicked the side of the aircar; it hurt her foot, but she ignored it."Blasted androids!"Bulma sank to her knees, sobbing and no longer caring that she was supposed to be stronger than to do that."I hate them," she whispered whenever she had the breath."I hate them."

A hand fell on her shoulder."Bulma-chan…"

"We were all right, at first," Bulma explained hoarsely, feeling the urge to talk about her ordeal."We took cover behind some ruins, with a few dozen others.For what seemed like forever, I held Trunks tight and listened for the explosions.When they stopped, we all stood still, waiting for a sure sign that the androids had left.We didn't find one, but tried to make a careful break for it, anyway; I should have known better than to go---or to let any of us go.I don't know how I could have been such a baka."

Bulma paused for a long time.Her mother said nothing, for which she was grateful; any sympathetic words at this point would only cause her to burst into tears again.Sniffling, she wiped her eyes and nose with the backs of her hands, then continued, "The androids must have seen us, because they fired a blast that landed just a few feet from us.The blast set off a panic, and you know how people are when they're panicked---no manners at all.I got jostled around and lost my grip on Trunks' hand, then someone pushed me over.I didn't look up until a couple of minutes after the mob passed by, and looked around for Trunks…"Pausing again, briefly, she swallowed her tears."…but he wasn't there.He'd kept on running.And the androids were off hunting everyone who had kept running…"

Unable to speak anymore, Bulma fell silent.She didn't need to say anything else; the way she'd trailed off revealed far more than words ever could,Her little boy, the only true joy that she'd had left, was gone.

Slowly, she looked up at her mother.The elder woman's face, which had always appeared so youthful, now showed her age; even her hair, in its perpetually perky sweep above her head, seemed to droop.Bulma pressed a brave expression onto her face and rose to her feet."I'll be all right, Okaasan.We'll all be, one day."

With that, she turned and walked inside, feeling bad about herself for lying to her mother. They'd all be fine one day, indeed; the androids murdered at their leisure and there was nothing and no one that was capable of stopping them.Had they lived beyond the first attack, Vegeta and Gohan may have eventually trained to a high enough level to accomplish the task.Or had Goku been alive when those monsters attacked, he would have taken care of them for sure…But as it had been, Trunks had been the only one alive that had any power whatsoever… and now he was gone, too.Bulma wasn't sure if she would have let him train, though, even if someone had been around to teach him; she used to think that Chichi was too overprotective about Gohan going into fights, but ever since the androids, Bulma had been beginning to think that the younger woman may have been on to something.

Not that it mattered, now.Trunks had still died---just as an innocent victim instead of a noble warrior.

Bulma flicked a switch when she reached the parlour; much to her annoyance, no lights came on.She sighed."Power's out.I should have guessed."Beyond caring, she stretched out on the couch and stared up at the high ceiling.

"If only there could have been some way of knowing the androids were coming," she whispered into the silence."If there could have been some warning, well before the first time they came; then the others would have had a chance to stop them.I wish that I could just go back in time and tell them of the danger."

Wishing, however, wasn't going to make it so; not without Dragonballs, anyway.And those were just a _little_ difficult to come by these days, what with Piccolo being dead, and all.No, wishing would not work.

_But…_Bulma blinked.Though the Dragonballs had always been useful, the seeking of supernatural powers was not her way; she was a woman of science.And who was to say that science couldn't solve this problem?Actually, the idea was so simple that she was amazed that she hadn't thought of it a long time ago, but perhaps she hadn't had enough motivation before today.

A time machine.

At the thought, Bulma's heart, which had been made heavy by the loss of Trunks, lightened just a bit.Something _could_ be done to help the world.She could go back, give Goku and the others enough warning long enough in advance so that they could train and…

_Goku.Blast it!_

Bulmaslammed her fist onto the table next to the couch, frustrated.A time machine wouldn't help things, either; Goku's aid in a battle against the androids would be essential, and he would _still_ be dead by the time that they appeared.No means existed to avert his death, even now; the heart virus which had done what no warrior could---taken his life---was still without a cure.

Quickly, thoroughly, the black shroud of despair enveloped Bulma's soul.The shroud seemed to laugh at her, to mock her._How foolish you are!_ it said, echoing through her emptiness._You thought to save your friends!To save your precious little son!But they are dead.And they will **always** be dead, no matter what you try.Yes, how utterly foolish you are!_

The whirring of gears caught her attention; turning her head slightly, Bulma saw a small service robot, scarcely taller than the table, holding up a tray filled with assorted cakes and a few cups from which spewed the appropriately bitter aroma of coffee, with its three-fingered metallic hands.She was not in the mood for such an intrusion; angrily, she smacked away the tray, covering its holder with brown liquid and multicoloured icing."Just go away!"

The robot instantly complied, rushing out of the room like a frightened child and very nearly running over the figure that had just appeared in the doorway; the figure barely jumped out of its way in time, then looked up at Bulma.

"Now, now, hon," the figure said soothingly."Scaring the robots won't help anything."

"I don't care!" Bulma snapped.Her father could be so annoying sometimes.She shifted onto her side, away from him; tears were welling up in her eyes again and she didn't want him to see her cry.Soft footsteps clicked across the floor, stopping near her; Bulma heard her father groan a bit, probably settling his old bones into a chair.For long moments, silence reigned.

"My dear, we're all upset over what's happened to Trunks, but…"

It was too much; Bulma turned and shot to her feet, glaring at her father with eyes so baleful they would have frightened even Vegeta.The man cringed and held the newspaper he'd had tucked under his arm protectively over his head as she screamed at him."Upset?Is that all you can say?Your grandson was killed today, Otousan!Killed!Hunted down and slaughtered like some small, defenceless animal!"Being unable to see her father's face as she ranted only served to make her even angrier, and her voice rose still more."Does that mean so little to you that you can speak so calmly?Am I the only one who cares?My _son_ is dead!My four-year-old little boy is…"

Bulma stopped suddenly, blinking as she read the banner headline on the front page of her father's shield.Cautiously, the man lowered it a bit, peering up at her from under the thin rims of his glasses.His voice nervous, he tempted his daughter's ever-so-famous temper by asking, "What is it, hon?" 

Not hearing him, Bulma snatched the newspaper from his hands, praying that her mind and the nearly-gone light had not played a cruel trick on her vision.Her fingers trembled in nervousness and slowly dawning hopefulness as she read the headline again; amidst the horror of the day, and of the past three years in general, a message of hope leapt forth from a string of large, bold capital letters:

**DEADLY VIRUS FINALLY HAS A CURE!**

Bulma's heart almost soared; there was a chance that her idea might work, now.It would take years of toil before she could be certain, but at least there was a _chance_…There was a way to let Trunks grow up, for the others to live, for the world to flourish…

"Bulma-chan?"She turned upon hearing her father's voice.The man's eyes were questioning, and his mouth, though it was barely visible under his bushy white moustache, was frowning with curiosity.

"Otousan.Do we have any information on time-space?" Bulma asked."Articles?Books?Scientific journals?"

Blinking, he hesitated."Well… I'm sure that there would be something of that nature in the library, but…"

"Wonderful."A great deal of research was going to be needed if she were to ever put the concept of the time machine into reality.Thus reassured, Bulma began to leave the parlour; her father's voice stopped her.

"Bulma-chan, why all these questions?What are you up to?"

Bulma smiled."I have an idea, Otousan.An incredible one that I'm going to get started on first thing tomorrow morning."

"But we've got to work on getting the power up and running again," her father protested."And we've got to restore communications; the androids attack severed all the channels…"

"_You_ can worry about that," she interrupted."I've got my own project and I won't be needing either of those things for a while yet."

Before anything else could be said, Bulma completed her exit of the parlour.A short distance down the hallway, she halted and leaned against the wall; she lifted her chin and her eyes toward Heaven, toward Trunks.

"Gomen nasai, Trunks-chan," she whispered as silent tears slid down her cheeks."I wish that this had never happened to you.But it won't have to, now.Don't you worry, Trunks-chan; Mama's going to fix everything."


	4. Gohan and Trunks---The Demi-Saiyan Kids ...

Disclaimer: Yet again, I do not own DBZ, so don't bother suing me; I'm starting university this fall, so I need what little m

**Disclaimer:**Yet again, I do not own DBZ, so don't bother suing me; I've started university this fall, so I need what little money I've got.

The Burden of Hope

CHAPTER FOUR:Gohan and Trunks--- The Demi-Saiyan Kids Catch Up

Trunks.Son of Bulma and Vegeta; in a way, the new prince of the Saiyajin.Gohan had suspected as much since he matched the strong ki with the toddler's body.Now that this suspicion had been confirmed, he wasn't certain what to make of his rescue.By sheer chance, it seemed, he was being confronted by one of the few living reminders of his past.

Neither of the two demi-saiyans had said a word since Trunks had spoken his name; Gohan was silenced by a tangle of confused feelings and Trunks was either close-lipped or mistrustful or both.A silence rich with turmoil weighted down the air.

Shaking his head, Gohan broke the tableau."We shouldn't stay here.Come on."He turned sharply on his heel and began to walk off, but stopped when he realized that Trunks was not following him.Irritated, he asked, "Aren't you coming?"

Trunks didn't respond; he merely stood still, fear and hesitation plainly written in his blue eyes.Those eyes blinked uncertainly.

Very well then, Gohan thought; he was probably better off without the kid, anyway."Fine.Stay there.Fend for yourself; I had to learn how to do that when I was about your age.I guess there's no reason why you shouldn't have to do the same."

He continued walking.A small part of him screamed that he couldn't leave a defenceless child to take care of himself, but he ignored it; as much as Gohan would be better off without Trunks, the toddler would be better off without Gohan.Goodness knew that the kid would probably have better survival odds on his own; Gohan's skills for protecting others were pretty minimal.Why put a little kid's death on his head along with the deaths of the others?He'd been through quite enough.

"Wait!" called Trunks' small voice."Gohan, wait!"Halting, the older boy turned his head to see the toddler sprinting on his short legs to meet him."I'll go with you; I don't wanna be by myself."

Unsure of whether or not to be pleased by this, Gohan nodded and started off again."Let's go."Carefully, he stepped across piles of blasted concrete, not bothering to slow his pace for his young companion, who had to struggle to crawl over the large chunks; if Trunks wanted to come with him, he would have to keep up under his own power.

The way was not far; Gohan's intent was only to leave the city and he and Trunks had not gone in much past the outskirts.Half-crushed and half-melted stone gave way to fully dead grass which had no doubt been a vibrant green when the world had been at peace.So much that used to be beautiful was now ruined.

"Why are we going this way?" Trunks asked, moving his little legs in quick strides to accommodate for Gohan's larger steps."Shouldn't we go somewhere where there's people?"

Annoyed, Gohan sighed heavily; for having spent his entire remembered life in this world, Trunks had a pitiful amount of knowledge about how things worked."That's not safe; large groups of people attract the androids.It's better if it's just the two of us."

Trunks lowered his eyes in understanding and remained silent.His lids were half-closed, and he blinked a few times; his walk faltered a bit but did not slow.Clearly, he was tired; at this time of day and after all the excitement that the toddler had experienced, Gohan supposed that it was only natural for him to be sleepy.In truth, the older boy was a touch tired himself; it had been years since he'd last transformed into a Super Saiyajin and the enhanced form exacted a price on his body.Not training during the past few years could not have helped matters.

His eyes scanned the landscape; the grassy plain stretched on for the full range of Gohan's Saiyajin vision.Remembering his desperate search for cover during his rescue of Trunks, he came to the conclusion that the area around the city they'd just left was an enemy to those who wished to avoid unpleasant attention; just because the androids were attracted to large population centres didn't mean that they wouldn't pick off a few strays who they found wandering through the countryside.Gohan would have dearly loved to fly and search for shelter, but decided against it.Such an action would be terribly conspicuous; he was the only one left besides the androids who could fly under his own power.Chances of finding cover tonight were too slim to count as being present.

"Stop," Gohan ordered, placing his hand on Trunks' shoulder to halt the toddler's forward motion.Night had put the sky in its mouth and swallowed it whole."There's no point in going any further tonight.Besides, you look tired."

The little boy bobbed his head in agreement, then flopped himself onto the ground with a soft thud."I am.Mama usually makes me go to bed before it gets this dark."His eyes, their bright blue still easily visible in the darkness, began to shimmer as tears gathered in them."Mama…"

Eying Trunks carefully, Gohan sat down next to him, dead grass crackling as he put his weight upon it.He found himself wondering why the little boy hadn't been with his mother; Bulma---the Bulma that Gohan remembered, anyway---would not let her only child out of her sight.If they weren't together…"What happened to your mother?"

Trunks sniffled, and tears seeped from the corners of his eyes."I don't know," he answered huskily."There was a really bright light and a big scary sound and the ground started to shake and then I couldn't see Mama anymore.Mama always told me to run away if I couldn't see her when the bad robots were around, so I did.Then the bad lady-robot tried to get me and then you came and saved me."

The toddler fell silent, tears now slowly rolling down his cheeks; Gohan simply looked at him, blinking every few seconds as he absorbed the story.If Bulma had been among the group of people running, there was virtually no way that she would have survived the attack, but if she hadn't been, the odds were pretty good that she was still alive.Trunks' story suggested that the latter was the case.

"I miss my mama; I hope the bad robots didn't get her," Trunks said softly."I don't have a papa.Mama says the bad robots got him when I was just a baby."He raised his head and looked Gohan straight in the eye."Where's your mama and papa?Don't you have them?"

The question was immediately offensive; Gohan flinched as if struck and looked away, a scowl hardening his features."That's none of your business," he growled."I thought you said that you were tired; why don't you just go to sleep?"

He didn't turn his head to see the younger boy's reaction; after a moment, he heard dead grass crumple as Trunks lay down.The only sound in the air now was the chirping of a few crickets; the sound was homey, in an odd sort of way, as though he'd just been tucked in by his mother for a peaceful night's sleep.

Gohan's scowl deepened.What foolish thoughts he was having.Home.Family.He hadn't had either of those things in years and preferred to keep memories of them out of his head; they were one of the few things that could still cause him pain.The kid had just _had_ to dredge this up, hadn't he?

_Where are my parents, Trunks?_ he thought sardonically._Well, my father is dead; some baka heart virus stole him from me when I was nine years old.I haven't seen my mother since the day that the androids first attacked; in all likelihood, she's still alive, but I can't face her because I let everybody die._

"Gohan."Startled, he jumped and looked down at Trunks; he'd assumed that the little boy had fallen asleep.The child wore a confused frown on his face as he continued, "My mama used to know a little boy with that name; she said he was real nice but the bad robots got him the same day they got my papa."

Gohan smiled bitterly."For what it's worth, Trunks, I sometimes wish that they _had_ 'gotten' me."

"Why?"The toddler appeared genuinely puzzled now."I saw what they do; it's really mean and scary.Why do you wish they did mean and scary things to you?"

Caught off-guard, Gohan blinked, but after a few seconds, his frown returned.Why was he even talking about this with a four-year-old?"You wouldn't understand."

"You're strange, Gohan," Trunks went on."Most people are happy when the bad robots don't get them."

"Yeah, well, I'm not most people, Trunks," Gohan retuned sullenly; this conversation was starting to get on his nerves.

"But…"

"Didn't I tell you to go to sleep?"

Trunks flinched at his harsh tone."Hai.Gomen," he apologized meekly, resting his head on the grass once again and closing his eyes.Gohan stared at him for a long time, even after the toddler's breathing faded into the quiet rhythm of sleep.

Did he really have the right to be so angry with Trunks?The kid was only asking innocent questions; he hadn't meant to cause any pain.But he'd caused it nonetheless, and had to be silenced before he inflicted more harm.Gohan's most familiar feeling---guilt---swelled in his mind; however, this guilt was of a different kind than the one to which he'd grown accustomed.Normally, the feeling came when he thought about how he'd let his friends die.Now, though, it came because he'd hurt someone's feelings; there was no mistaking the wounded look in Trunks' eyes before the toddler had fallen asleep.The old Gohan had always chosen his words carefully, fearful as he was of offending people; it seemed that a little of that self still existed within him.

_For all the good that does me,_ he thought wryly.His old self wouldn't last an hour in this world; he'd be off doing stupid things like trying to take on the androids every time they attacked.Not that he'd have been doing that for long, anyway; it had only been dumb luck that he'd survived the first battle.In any future conflict, they'd be quite a bit more thorough in their work.

Truthfully, Gohan did not know why he cared if he lived or died; he _did_ wish that the androids had killed him along with his friends three years ago and yet he still bothered to feed and shelter himself.Not exactly the actions of someone who really wanted to die.Trunks was right:he _was_ strange.

Slowly, Gohan turned his right palm upward and channelled some ki into it; a flickering ball of icy blue came to life, illuminating his high, pale cheeks and contemplative obsidian eyes.A soft breeze soughed through the air, stirring his stiff black hair a bit.All it would take was releasing the ki ball over his heart.

"Piccolo-san, Kurilin-san…"A look of pain flooded his eyes as he whispered the names.When the next came, his voice was even softer."…Otousan…"

Terrible visions deluged his mind:Kurilin rushing into the path of Android Seventeen's pseudo-ki blast… the huge hole torn through Piccolo's chest… his father lying in bed, face ashen and hair limp… 

Of its own accord, Gohan's hand moved over his chest; the adolescent was about to release the ki ball when his gaze rose to Trunks.

The toddler's chest rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing.Belying the peacefulness of this sight, his head tossed a bit; by the light of the ki ball, Gohan could see that the child's eyes were tightly squeezed shut.Small whimpers occasionally escaped his lips.Nightmares about the androids, perhaps?

Gohan had a sudden vision of Trunks awakening the next morning to find his corpse.He could see the little boy, tears streaming down his young face, shaking his body in a vain attempt to revive him.He knew the pain the child would experience; he'd felt it himself three years before.A small boy waking up alone save for the presence of death…

The ki ball extinguished, allowing the darkness of night to settle once again over the two demi-saiyan boys.Feeling more tired than any of his actions today could account for, Gohan lay down to sleep.Before he permitted himself to drop off, he thought of how ironic it was that Trunks was the reason that he'd considered suicide, and was also the reason that he didn't go through with it.

"Gohan, wake up!"Small hands shook his shoulder. Irritably, Gohan opened his eyes to see Trunks standing over him.The toddler's face was dirty and pieces of grass were stuck to his hair.Gently pushing him back a few steps, Gohan sat up, blinking and looking toward the sky.

Dawn was breaking, the fires of the sun incinerating the night with their yellow-orange light.No clouds were in sight; the heavens gave every indication of being clear today.Gohan hated clear days; they shouted out the most atrocious lie:that everything was fine, that all was right with the world.The adolescent found it sickening.

Wiping a hand across his face, Gohan turned his attention back to Trunks."Do you always get up this early?"

The child shrugged."No, not usually.But I was having bad dreams and was too scared to go back to sleep."A haunted look briefly passed through his eyes."I was still scared when I woke up, so I came and woke you up."He cast his eyes downward and bowed his head.When he spoke again, his voice was soft and meek."I hope you're not mad at me."

Gohan sighed, knowing that Trunks was thinking about his harshness the previous night."No, I'm not mad at you.Look, I didn't mean to snap at you last night.I just… nevermind."

Standing up, Gohan stretched and brushed blades of grass out of his wild hair.He was still tired all over; his night of sleep hadn't been much more restful than Trunks'---probably less so.If the kid thought _his_ nightmares were terrible, he had a lot to learn.

Not that anyone else who would have seen it would have considered it a nightmare; Gohan was the only one who could see it in _that _particular way.He'd been dreaming of home, but had been removed from the scene, nothing more than an invisible spectator.He'd seen himself as a boy of perhaps eight talking and laughing with his father as they sat by the river near their little house in the woods.Reaching up his hand, his father had placed it gently on his head, mussing his hair and suggesting that they head inside before they could get yelled at.Gohan had seen himself bob his head in agreement and all but bound after his father, smiling broadly, as they travelled back to the house.At the front door, his mother had stood, an angry scowl on her pretty face; she'd rounded on his father, screaming at him for keeping her baby boy away from his studies for too long.His father had put a hand behind his head, nervously chuckling and bashfully apologizing…

"Gohan?" a young voice asked as Gohan felt a few small tugs on his pant leg; he looked down to see Trunks eying him concernedly."Are you okay?"

Realizing that he'd been absorbed in the memory of his dream, Gohan nodded."Hai, Trunks.I'm fine.I… I just had bad dreams, too."

His brow knitted in curious confusion as Trunks patted his leg sympathetically."It's a good thing I woke you up, then; now there's nothing bad going on.We're both safe, now; dreams can't hurt you when you're not sleeping."

_That's easy for him to say,_ Gohan thought.In a way, he envied the toddler, envied him fiercely; Trunks' nightmares were nothing but phantoms of fear, appearing with the night and vanishing with the dawn.Gohan's nightmares were spectral sadists, gleefully torturing him both in darkness and in daylight, allowing him no peace.Little kids had it so easy.

"Sure, Trunks," he said noncommittally."Well, there's no point in staying here any longer; we might as well get going."

Before Gohan could take a step, Trunks asked, "Where are we going?"

Gohan idly scanned the area with his eyes, deciding what direction in which to head."I never go anywhere in particular.Mostly, I just wander from place to place; I don't really have anywhere to go."

Trunks frowned in puzzlement and cocked his head; these actions in combination with his sharp features gave him the look of a fledgling bird."Nowhere to go?Don't you have a home?"

Gohan's expression darkened."No."

"Oh," Trunks responded softly, lowering his eyes."I guess the bad robots wrecked it, didn't they?"

"In a way," the older boy replied thoughtfully after a moment of hesitation, "I suppose they did."

A loud growl broke the ensuing silence; putting a hand over his stomach, Trunks gave Gohan a bashful look from under his pale eyebrows."Gomen.I'm kind of…"

"Hungry?" Gohan finished for him."Me too; I haven't eaten all that much in the last couple of days.I'll try to find us something."

He stopped using his eyes and began casting his senses outward in a search for the faint ki of wildlife.He'd never been particularly great at this task, but had improved tremendously over the past few years; if he hadn't, he'd have starved to death long ago.To the west, he could feel the ki of several thousand humans---no doubt the residents of the city he and Trunks had left.In all of the other compass points, Gohan could detect the extremely faint traces of ki that he had little doubt came from animals.

"That way," he said, jerking his chin toward the north, where the ki was the strongest. 

Trunks leaned to one side to peek around his legs, eyes wide with excitement."Really?"He took off at roadrunner speed, leaping in youthful exuberance every few strides.

Gohan watched him for a moment, thinking about how much the toddler reminded him right now of the younger version of himself that he'd seen in his dream---someone who was happy to be alive and showed it unabashedly.The sight briefly brought back the awful, empty feeling of loss that the dream had created.Dreams couldn't hurt those awake, indeed.

Shaking his head to dispel the dark thoughts, Gohan ran after Trunks before the toddler could get too far ahead of him.


	5. Almost Like Old Times; Reflections on a ...

Disclaimer: As you know by now, my name is not Akira Toriyama and I therefore do not own DBZ; I'm just borrowing a few of the

**Disclaimer:**As you know by now, my name is not Akira Toriyama and I therefore do not own DBZ; I'm just borrowing a few of the characters for a while.

The Burden of Hope

CHAPTER FIVE:Almost Like Old Times; Reflections on a Father 

Amazingly, it was quite a beautiful place.

Gohan and Trunks stood a quarter mile or so inside a forest that seemed to have no knowledge of the androids' existence, staring in silent awe.Their eyes were bombarded with a dizzying array of vibrant greens and browns from tree and bushes that stood proudly upright instead of lying in hideously humbled heaps.The only war present was that of the songs of several species of birds, but instead of conflicting with each other, they blended into a lovely melody.Insects scurried busily over leaves wet with morning dew; plump squirrels skittered across the forest floor and clawed their way up tree trunks.On the whole, the place was an oasis in the desert of destruction.

"Wow," Trunks whispered, utterly wonderstruck."This is the prettiest place I've ever seen."

Gohan nodded slowly, still too entranced to speak.This forest reminded him of the one that cradled his home; surprisingly, this brought him no pain, as memories of home usually did.Rather, he hadn't had such a sense of peace in many years.It was as though time had frozen the area at the peak of its loveliness and sheltered it from the androids' fury.Gohan had never dreamed that such beauty still existed in this world.

_And to think that I nearly killed myself last night, _he thought._Not even Heaven could look this good._

Trunks' stomach let out another growl, sounding very much like a half-starved wolf.The sound pulled Gohan from his daydream; it was a reminder of the reason they'd come here.Though it seemed a desecration to hunt in a place so brimming with life, his own stomach was about to voice its protest of his hesitation; the practical had to take precedence over the fanciful.

Slowly, Gohan stepped forward, placing his fingers on the back of Trunks' shoulder to urge the child along with him."Stay close to me and try not to make too much noise."

Their steps on the soft earth were as soundless as those of the insects on the wet vegetation; the rustling of brambles was the only auditory clue to the presence of the two creatures foreign to these woods.Carefully, Gohan ducked his head under a low branch, eyes combining with ki detection in the search for game.Trunks walked close behind him---a little too close actually; on several occasions, the toddler stepped on his heels.To chastise to child would be pointless, Gohan decided---doing so would create unnecessary noise, and besides, he was only doing as he'd been told---but the action was still annoying.

Gohan stopped abruptly, causing his young companion to bump into the backs of his legs; his senses had found something.He turned his head to the right, narrowing his eyes to see through the spaces among the dense trees.Then he found it:a flicker of motion.Slowly, he pointed his index finger and waited for the movement to come again.A few seconds later, it did, and Gohan let free a thin ki beam; the sound of it hissing through the air was abruptly followed by a thud.

He started forward toward the thud, but stopped when he realized that Trunks was no longer stepping on his heels; turning, he saw the toddler staring at him with wide eyes that blinked every few seconds."Well, come on, Trunks.Why are you hanging back?"After a moment, the older boy sighed, understanding; he'd seen Trunks stare at him that way before.He gestured for the child to come closer."Come on, Trunks.You can't keep getting scared like that every time I use my ki."

Hesitantly, Trunks complied, scuttling through the underbrush."What's ki?"

The question made Gohan blink.He really wasn't sure how to answer it; the nature of ki was something that he'd never actually considered."Well…" he began, searching for the right words."It's… it's like a kind of power that you feel inside of your body."

"And people can use it like you do?"Trunks' fear had clearly dissolved into curiosity.

"Well, actually, Trunks, most people don't even know it exists," Gohan explained, continuing the trek through the brambles.His voice dipped a bit."I'm the only one left who can use it."

Trunks frowned, apparently considering this answer.Then:"Could my papa use it?"

Startled, Gohan brought himself up short; he hurriedly composed himself and spoke, feeling oddly compelled to quench the child's thirst for knowledge."Hai, Trunks, he could.He was the best at it, at least once my father died.Didn't your mother ever tell you about him?"  
  


Trunks shook his head, looking thoughtful."No, not much.It made her sad.I didn't want to make her sad, so I tried not to ask her very much."

It made sense, Gohan supposed; before the androids came, he'd come to accept the astonishing fact that Bulma had had feelings for the arrogant Saiyajin prince, that she had, in fact, loved him.The rest of the group, Gohan included, had reluctantly---and warily---tolerated Vegeta's presence._Well, all the rest of us except Otousan, anyway,_ Gohan mused._He almost seemed **happy** that Vegeta was around._

The trees thinned out a bit, not enough to open up into a glade, but enough to allow passage without having to carefully weave through them.Lying on the ground was the large, still form of a black bear.It appeared as though the amount of meat on it would feed a small group of humans for about three days; thus it would probably satisfy the hunger of two demi-saiyans for one meal.

Reaching down, Gohan gripped one of the dead creature's legs and began the laborious task of shifting the weight of its entire body onto his back.It was heavier than he'd thought---heavy enough to keep his back bent as he carried it.Its muzzle rested on the bridge of his nose, partially obscuring his vision; the bear's legs hung limply over his shoulders.

A muffled sound caught his attention; as he turned to face that sound, it grew louder.Trunks was covering his mouth with his hand, his tiny shoulders shaking as he giggled uncontrollably.Self-consciously, the older boy's eyes examined how the bear was draped over his body before fixing again on the toddler.

"Oh, come on, Trunks," he said, almost pleadingly."I don't look _that_ silly, do I?"

Apparently, Trunks did not agree with him; the child giggled even harder.Gohan smiled in exasperation.Kids.

Turning on his heel and starting off, he called over his shoulder, "Oh, would you just cut that out and follow m---Whoa!"His foot caught on an exposed tree root and he fell flat on his face, snugly sandwiched between the ground and the bear.

Gohan pushed himself up on his hands, irritably shrugging off the carcass and disgustedly spitting dirt out of his mouth.He made a mental note to never allow such a substance to pass his lips again---even to a starved demi-saiyan, the stuff tasted awful.Childish laughter now echoed through the forest, bursting forth from the mouth of Trunks, who, Gohan noticed after he turned his head toward him, was lying on the ground with his arms folded across his stomach.Gohan found himself chuckling at his own clumsiness as well; he was certainly making quite the fool out of himself today.

After a moment, he froze, surprised at himself.What was happening to him?One night ago, he'd been on the verge of killing himself, and now he was laughing?It didn't make sense; he'd not even so much as smiled without bitterness for a very long time.Why was it different now?What had changed?

Gohan looked at Trunks again; the toddler was still lying on his side, his tiny body still wracked with fits of laughter, albeit less violent ones._That_ was what had changed, Gohan decided; he'd been acting strangely since he saw Trunks yesterday.Just being around the kid was causing an odd shift in his behaviour:a shift toward his old self.And he wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Gohan climbed to his feet and took hold of the bear carcass again.He didn't bother to heft it onto his back; quite honestly, he'd had his fill of looking ridiculous.

"Are you quite through?" he snapped at Trunks, more harshly than he'd intended.Shoulders still shaking convulsively, the little boy pushed himself to his feet and wiped a hand across his tear-filled eyes.His smile died when he saw Gohan's scowl."Now come on."

They walked in silence for a long while, the only sounds being the dragging of the carcass along the forest floor and the gradually increasing volume of a fast-flowing river.The trees opened up into a wide glade and offered a view of the river's clearer-than-crystal waters splashing over rocks.

Trunks plopped himself down near the rushing waters and stared with curious eyes as Gohan knelt next to him, at last finished dragging along his weighty burden.

"So how are we supposed to eat that?" the small child asked."Won't we get hair in our mouths?"He made a face."That would be yucky."

Gohan rolled his eyes."Of course we're not going to get hair in our mouths, Trunks.I'm going too take the skin off; the meat is underneath it."

"Oh."Trunks crawled over to peer over the older boy's shoulder."Can I watch?"

"Only is you think you can stand the sight of blood," Gohan answered absently.He dug his fingernails into the bear's skin, breaking through it easily; warm, red liquid gushed onto his fingers."If you can't, I suggest you turn away."

Gohan had expected Trunks to do just that, but, to his surprise, retained his audience as he ripped flesh as though it were paper.He wondered about this for only a moment before finding the answer.No matter that Trunks was only four years old; he was a child of the age of the androids and had seen some awful things in his short lifetime.Still, it was disturbing; little kids shouldn't have to know anything so terrible.

He paused, a flap of thick, hairy skin in each hand."Actually, Trunks, I think it would be better if you didn't watch," he said thoughtfully.

"But you just said that…"

"Nevermind what I said before!" Gohan ordered curtly."Do what I'm saying _now_.Quit watching."

Trunks slowly complied, obediently scooting backward.Feeling a bit more comfortable now, Gohan returned to his task.It took several minutes for him to finish; once he did, skin lay around the carcass like once-living wrapping paper that had been used to conceal a gory gift.Gohan was glad that he'd made Trunks turn away; he himself, no matter how many times he'd seen it, found it a little less than appetizing to look at exposed meat and organs.

He tore a large chunk off the leg and held it in the river to wash off the blood; reddish streamers briefly tainted the waters.Once done, he lifted his hand and shook off the excess water.

"Is it ready to eat yet?" Trunks inquired impatiently."I'm really, really hungry now."

"Just hold on a minute, Trunks," Gohan chided smoothly."You can't eat raw meat.There are germs all over it that could make you sick.You'll have to wait while I cook it.Don't worry; it'll only take a couple of seconds."

Tossing the piece into the air, he enveloped it in a small ki beam; he then caught it and flipped it over to Trunks, who seized it with surprising skill.

"Wow," the toddler whispered, staring wonderingly at the fully-cooked piece of meat in his hands.He looked at Gohan, excitement bright in his blue eyes."Can you teach me how to do that?"

Gohan prepared a portion for himself before answering."You don't want to learn how to use your ki, Trunks; that'll make you a target for the androids, just like I am, now that they know I'm still alive."His voice was sullen."There's no doubt in my mind that you're _capable_ of learning how---you're half Saiyajin, and the son of the prince, no less---but…"

Clearly disappointed, Trunks lowered his eyes and began to eat.After a few moments, he looked up again, disappointment replaced by confusion."My papa was a prince?"

Gohan blinked; he'd thought that Bulma would have told him _that_ much about Vegeta."That's a pretty basic fact; I guess your mother _really_ didn't talk about him much.He was the prince, and destined to be the most powerful fighter who ever lived---and he made sure that no one ever forgot it."

Trunks nodded."Mama said my papa was real strong.I wanna grow up and be strong just like him."

"Trust me, Trunks; it's not worth it," the older boy returned, smiling sardonically."Being strong is such a joke.It's not getting _me_ anywhere, and it certainly didn't do your father any good---he got killed off in the androids' first attack.Strength is useless; the androids have proven that."

The conversation ended with that statement, forcing the two boys to continue the meal in silence.Gohan actually finished before Trunks; the verbal exchange had damaged his appetite.Silently, he watched as his young companion ate with a little less than the normal Saiyajin enthusiasm; Gohan supposed that his little speech had depressed the child, who seemed to idolize his deceased and unremembered father.

It seemed odd for Trunks---or anyone, as far as Gohan was concerned---to revere Vegeta; the Saiyajin prince was a less than admirable person:haughty, condescending, foul-tempered, with a violent streak about ten miles wide…Truly, it was an enigmatic mystery of the universe how Bulma had managed to fall in love with him.Trunks' resemblance to his father was only apparent in his hawkish facial features; his demeanour was entirely different.The child was quiet, obedient, and sympathetic---much like Gohan had been at his age, only without the tendency to become paralyzed with fear at the sight of things more harmless than his own shadow.It was wrong of the kid to look up to someone like Vegeta, whose list of awful qualities would fill several pages.Then again, Trunks knew very little about his father and was too young to realize that a reluctance toward speaking about the man was a careful way to avoid disparaging him.

Somehow, the absence of conversation began to soothe Gohan; he listened to the rushing of the river and the chattering of birds, watched the clear waters and towering green-topped trees.The sense of peace that he'd felt upon entering the forest returned, washing away his dismal mood.He wasn't _happy_ exactly---the bitter weight of his past failures was still heavy upon his soul---but he felt…what?Calmer?Freer?Lighter?None of those words seemed to fit.He just knew that he felt _something_:something different than that to which he'd become accustomed, and having that feeling was slightly more comforting than it was disconcerting.

Gohan turned his attention back to Trunks; the small child still looked somewhat dispirited.Feeling an apologetic look come over his face, the older boy hesitantly said, "Gomen, Trunks; I shouldn't have said that about your father.Standing up to the androids the way that he did took a lot of courage; even though they were a lot stronger than he was, he fought to the end with everything that he had.He died an honourable death."

Trunks stared at him, silently absorbing his words.The despondency in his eyes faded a bit, but remained present.The child's lips spread into something less than a smile, and he nodded once, briefly.

Gohan sighed softly; he felt awful that he'd caused the child pain.He didn't want Trunks to be angry with him."Come on, Trunks; stop looking at me like that.I…I don't know what else I can say."

Trunks still said nothing and continued to stare, blinking every few seconds.This frustrated Gohan, who promptly balled one hand into a fist and slammed it, not too roughly---he still had sense enough not to bring anything crashing down---into the trunk of an adjacent tree.

A strong rumbling noise filled the air; slightly confused, Gohan looked up---and instinctively covered his head with his hands as a mass of apples rained down upon him.As the rain slowed, he lowered his arms, a tight and irritated smile on his face.First the bear carcass incident, and now this.What a great day this was turning out to be for embarrassing moments.

There was one redeeming quality, though; Trunks was laughing.The toddler made no attempt to hide it; he was doubled over, his whole body heaving with each chuckle, his dark mood clearly forgotten.

_Well that was easy,_ Gohan mused ruefully._All I have to do to make him feel better is humiliate myself.Not the worst deal in the world, I guess._

Yes, he'd had worse days than this one.Actually, today was probably the best one he'd had in recent memory.For that, he was willing to have himself subjected to a certain amount of embarrassment.

  


It took about a week to traverse the forest.The land that Gohan and Trunks now travelled across was an open plain dotted with rocky, grass-topped buttes.Some of the grass was even green instead of brown, showing some recovery from the residual effects of the androids' destruction of the city that lay in the near distance.Despite the fact that the area was comparatively pretty to most other places in the world, Gohan found that his eyes were continually drawn back to the woods.

Strange, but he was almost sorry to leave them behind; they had seemed to reduce his usual degree of moodiness.He and Trunks hadn't spoken a great deal while there, but after that first day, their silences were comfortable, sometimes even amiable.The toddler had usually begun any conversation they'd had, most often with a random question about Vegeta; apparently he'd decided that Gohan had known his father fairly well and was more willing to talk about him than his mother was.Gohan tried to answer them as best he could, choosing his words carefully to spare Trunks' feelings; he certainly didn't want the child to be upset with him again.

"Gohan-san?" Trunks asked.Gohan turned his head to look at him; he was growing used to the child's use of the familiar term, though it had only started a couple of days ago."Remember when you said my papa was a Sai…Saiya…" the toddler stumbled over the unfamiliar word.

"Saiyajin?" Gohan finished for him, and Trunks nodded."Yes.What about it?"

"What is that?"

It was indeed amazing how little the toddler had been told by his mother; Gohan had been answering basic questions such as this one all week long."The Saiyajin were aliens who used to live on a planet far away from here.They looked a lot like the people here, except that they had tails.All of them were naturally strong and loved to fight.My father was one, too."

Trunks looked thoughtful."Your papa is gone away forever, like mine, isn't he?"

Gohan's eyes began to sting; angrily, he kept the tears at bay.He wasn't about to let himself start crying, especially in front of Trunks.Still, thoughts of his father were wearying, and he stopped, leaning his back against a butte and staring up at the half-clouded sky."Hai, he is."

"What was your papa like?"

Gohan scarcely heard the toddler's words; his mind flooded with old memories.He remembered his father's bright, boyish smile and his open, eager face; even in adulthood, that face had held a childlike innocence that had never faded.Gohan remembered the way that his father had eaten---most people would say that he had eaten like a pig, but pigs tended to chew; his father had virtually inhaled his food.Goodness knew that Gohan's mother had tried to teach him how to eat with a little more dignity and his father had made the effort---honestly, he had---but every attempt had been doomed to failure.

He remembered fishing with his father, in the great river that flowed a short distance from their house.Disdaining rods and reels---only normal people needed tools to fish, and Gohan and his father were far from normal---they'd simply leapt into the cold waters and casually tossed fish easily large enough to swallow a child onto the riverbank.When they surfaced, they would both be giggling happily and getting into splash fights with each other---which Gohan had lost each and every time.

Only now came the memories of battles.Of his father standing fearlessly in front of the enemy, face set into an expression so hard it seemed as though it had been chiselled out of solid granite.Of the way his father moved:gracefully, giving a surreal beauty to the brutal dance of combat.Of the security that everything was going to be all right; his father never let anyone down.Nothing could defeat him.

Nothing, that was, except the heart virus.His father had spent his last days confined to his bed, one hand perpetually clutching at his failing heart.His skin had gone from a healthy peach colour to a lifeless greyish tone; each breath that he took had been accompanied by a low moan of agony.His sleep had been plagued by nightmares that caused him to scream and thrash uncontrollably.Gohan hadn't been able to look at him for more than a minute before turning away, hot tears running down his cheeks.

Just like they were right now, Gohan abruptly realized, shaking himself from his daydream.Angry with himself for losing control of his emotions, he hurriedly wiped his hands across his face.

It wasn't until he looked down that he realized Trunks was missing.

__


	6. A Lone Child; The Android Assualt!

v:* {behavior:url(#default#VML);} o:* {behavior:url(#default#VML);} w:* {behavior:url(#default#VML);} .shape {behavior:url(#default#VML);} Disclaimer: Okay, you know how these things go; I don't own DBZ, and I never will houle Normal houle 2 181 2001-11-02T03:02:00Z 2001-11-02T03:02:00Z 14 3303 18829 home 156 37 23123 9.3821 

**Disclaimer:**  Okay, you know how these things go; I don't own DBZ, and I never will.  I'm just borrowing a few of the characters for a while.

The Burden of Hope 

CHAPTER SIX:  A Lone Child; The Android Assault!

Blast it, where had that kid run off to?  Gohan cursed his lack of attentiveness as his eyes darted about in a frantic attempt to find Trunks; he had no idea how long he'd been lost in his memories, so there was no telling how far the toddler could have wandered.  Hadn't Bulma taught the kid how to sit still?

Taking a deep, quivering breath and running a hand through his dark hair, Gohan forced himself to calm down.  Really, it was no big deal.  Trunks' ki was easily recognizable; it was a simple matter to locate it, and then everything would be fine.  He was worrying over nothing.

He opened his senses, feeling for Trunks' distinctive ki signature.  At first, he could sense nothing but a few animals and a large grouping of humans.  Casting himself out further, he at last felt a strong ki pulsing through the air.  Gohan let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.  Trunks was in the city.  Why he was there was a thing beyond the older boy's comprehension, but at least the problem could be solved now.

Gohan was about to leap into the sky, when he was met with a sight that turned his blood to ice.  A massive explosion rocked a portion of the city, sending a cloud of smoke mushrooming into the heavens.  With frightening certainty, he knew that only one thing could possibly be happening.

"No," he whispered softly, staring in horror.  "Not now.  Not here."  Convulsively, his fists clenched; his eyes narrowed in anger.  "That baka kid is going to get himself killed!"

Without another thought, Gohan violently blasted into the sky, completely destroying several feet of the landscape in the process, and streaked toward the city, enveloped in golden fire.

Trunks ambled down the street, carefully weaving through the legs of all of the big people.  He was occasionally unsuccessful, and bumped into a person or two; whenever he did, he would meekly apologize---his mother had taught him to always say he was sorry after he did something rude---but the person usually gave him a mean look, causing him to scamper away.

After a while, he leaned his back against the wall of a tall building, sliding down until he was sitting.  He'd been walking for a long time; his legs hurt, so he needed to rest.

As he watched the city's residents stroll by, chatting casually, he brushed a few errant strands of lavender hair out of his eyes---an old habit.  He drew his knees up to his small chest, and wrapped his slender arms around them.  He was starting to feel a little afraid; he'd never been on his own before.  The city was a scary place for a four-year-old to be alone.

Trunks was starting to regret leaving Gohan-san.  At first a little afraid of him, the child had grown comfortable around and felt safe with him.  Not as comfortable and safe as he felt around his mother, but still…  Anyway, it was too late to turn back now; he didn't know how to get back to him.  Besides, Trunks had gotten the feeling that Gohan-san would be happier without him around.  The older boy wasn't as nice as he'd been told; he was never _mean_, but he got snappish.  Trunks figured that it was all his own fault; some of his questions had seemed to upset Gohan-san.  Especially his last one---only Gohan-san had gotten sad instead of snappish.  Feeling terrible about this, Trunks had decided to leave the older boy to himself and had carefully slipped away into the city to look for his mother; at the age of four, he had no idea that this was not the place that he called home.  All he knew was that he lived in a big city, and he was in one right now.

A chilly wind assaulted Trunks, and he hugged himself more tightly.  From under his pale eyebrows, he observed the people walking by, completely ignoring him; the cars zooming past, the noise of their engines rising with their approach and fading with their departure; and the twisted maze of streets and alleyways, confounding his attempts to get home.  The child was starting to feel terribly frightened and lonely.  He wanted Gohan-san.  He wanted his mother.  And he wanted them now.

Trunks felt tears prick his eyes, and he blinked them back.  He wasn't going to let himself cry.  Only babies cried when they were scared, and he wasn't going to be a baby anymore.  He had to be a big boy now.  Like Gohan-san.  _He_ never cried; he was too brave.  That's what Trunks decided he was going to be.  Brave.

Eventually, he stood and stretched his arms and legs.  Not bothering to wipe the dirt of his pants---a person got used to the weight of dirt on his clothes after spending a week in the woods---he glanced around, deciding which direction to try next.  Part of him thought about asking a grownup for help, but he instantly pushed aside that idea; he'd gotten a few mean looks from them earlier, which only served to intensify his natural shyness.  No, he would do this himself, just like a big boy would.

Before Trunks could take a step, the ground beneath him jumped, causing him to lose his footing; he barely managed to catch himself with his hands in time to stop his face from hitting the pavement.  He looked up as people screamed, and saw them pointing at something.  Curious, the child sat up on his knees, turned his head in the direction people were pointing---and froze.

A huge cloud of thick black smoke rose high into the air, spitting out flaming chunks of concrete.  Bright yellow flashes lit the sky.  Nearby buildings exploded into millions of pieces… and the explosions grew closer with each passing moment.

Pure panic erupted around Trunks; people shrieked and ran in a twisted array of conflicting paths.  Those who were stronger pushed past those who were weaker, leaving them as vulnerable as lame deer surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves.  Several times, Trunks was nearly trampled; the only action he could bring himself to take was to huddle against the wall, eyes locked with terrified fascination on the destruction being wrought upon the city.

_It's the bad robots.  They're hurting people again,_ he thought fearfully, an unnatural chill sweeping through him.  _Where's Gohan-san?  If he was here, he'd help me just like before.  He'd help everybody so the bad robots wouldn't get them._

A block or so away, a beam of light sliced neatly through a large domed building, raining down a crushing doom on anyone unfortunate enough to be inside.  This jarred Trunks from his paralysis, and he broke into a run.  He needed to find someplace to hide, and he needed to do it fast.  And as much as he hated it, neither his mother nor Gohan-san was here to help him find a safe spot; he would have to do it himself.  Like he'd told himself before, he had to be a big boy.

Trying to move along with the terrified crowds proved to be a very difficult task; Trunks could not duck through one pair of legs without running smack into another.  He was pressed in so tightly that the smallest false step in any direction caused him to bump into someone.  More tense than before, he tried to slow his rapid breathing.  Being closed in made him nervous; he'd spent his life in the Capsule Corporation facility---which was anything but small---and the past week out in the wilderness.  Small spaces were unnatural to him.

In a dissonant chorus of screams and gasps, the herd of people stopped cold, leaving Trunks helpless to halt himself before his momentum carried him smartly into the legs of someone in front of him.  Luckily, he was in such close quarters that he hadn't enough room to fall.  He was confused, though.  Why had everybody stopped running all of a sudden?  He could still hear horrified shrieks, so it was pretty clear that the bad robots hadn't left yet.  What in the world was going on?

"My, my, my.  What poor hosts you humans are.  Is it too much to ask that you be polite enough not to try to run out on your guests?" came a voice from the front of the crowd, as smooth and as cold as a sheet of ice.  Fear chilled Trunk's blood; he knew that voice.  It belonged to the bad boy-robot.

"And the stares are just plain rude.  Haven't you been taught to have better manners in the presence of a lady?  I'm insulted," another voice, sharper and just as frigid, said from behind.  Trunks swallowed an enormous lump of terror.  The bad lady-robot.  "So, Seventeen, should we punish them for being so impolite?"

A bright light flashed from the front of the group; Trunks jammed the heels of his hands into his sensitive ears in a vain attempt to shut out the hideous wails of agony that rose into the air.  "Of course," came the reply, amid gasps of dread.  "Such rudeness is not something to be tolerated."

"I agree."

Trunks squeezed his eyes shut as awful cries of pain rang out again.  He felt a rush of wind pass over his hair; startled, he snapped his eyes open… and gasped as he saw that many of the people in front of him were now lying on the ground, smoke rising from holes punched through their bodies at just above waist height.  Others were on their knees, clutching forearms that had nearly blown off, but steadily oozed blood instead.  The only thing that had protected him from injury was his small stature.

Crying with fear now, Trunks began to run again, pumping his legs as hard as he could.  Panic had broken anew, and it took a great deal of effort to make any headway in the frantic sea of legs.  Time and again, he was bumped and jostled, but he didn't care.  He wanted to get away.  Far, far, away.  He wanted to get to a place where there were no bad robots and everybody was happy and safe.

Something solid struck a glancing blow on his forehead and he felt another rush of wind just in front of him; yelping in pain, Trunks tumbled to the ground.  Instinctively, he covered his head with his hands as people's feet swarmed around him like frantic bees.  He desperately wanted to get up, but could not; there simply wasn't enough room.  All he could do was curl himself into a tight little ball and wait for the crowd to pass.

He didn't realize it right away when it did; he remained in the defensive position for an extra moment before cautiously uncurling his body and slowly getting to his feet.  Feeling his forehead throb dully, Trunks reached up and gently prodded it with his fingers; he winced as he touched a tender spot over his right eye.

_You can't worry about that now, baka!_ he mentally screamed at himself.  _You've got to get away!_

Giving a single nod in firm agreement with his thoughts, he forced himself to look brave as he tried to decide which direction to go in.  Upon turning his head to the left, he knew instantly that _that_ was no the way to go.

The bad boy-robot stood there, holding a lady by her neck.  As Trunks watched in fixated horror, the bad boy-robot plunged his free arm into… and _though_ the lady's stomach until his entire forearm stuck out her back, thickly covered in dripping blood.  Slowly, he slid his arm backward, raised it a bit, and shot it forward again.  He repeated this several times; the lady screamed endlessly, but over this horrible sound, Trunks heard something far more chilling.

The bad boy-robot was laughing.  _Laughing_.  Trunks could not understand this.  How could anybody laugh when they were hurting someone?  It didn't make any sense.  His mother had always told him that the bad robots hurt people for no reason, but she'd never said that they _liked_ doing it.  Yet here they were, playing with their victims the way that Trunks played with his toys, then throwing them away when they weren't fun anymore.

A loud boom and a horrid melody of screams rose into the air; Trunks whipped his head toward the noise in time to see people flung through the air in all directions, some smashing into walls, and others slamming onto the pavement.  With a startled gasp, Trunks leapt back a bit as one body landed just in front of him.  The body was that of a boy not much older than he, and thin, with short black hair.  The dark-haired boy was not moving, but his face was all scrunched up as if he were in pain.  Blood leaked slowly from the back of his head in a narrow crimson river.  Suddenly feeling like he was going to be sick, Trunks looked up to see the bad lady-robot standing not very far away, with her back to him.

_Hide.  Hide!  HIDE!_ his mind screamed in time with his wildly beating heart, so loudly that for a second he feared he might go deaf.  _Now!  While the bad robots aren't looking!_

Eyes wide with pure terror, he looked around desperately for someplace, anyplace, that might be safe; fearful whimpers escaped his slightly parted lips.  He had to hurry; he didn't have much time.

Something like relief calmed him just a bit as he caught sight of his best chance; quickly making sure that neither of the bad robots was watching, he raced forward, pumping his legs harder than he had ever before in his life, and dove under a truck that was parked on the other side of the street.

The shadows that met his eyes were a more than welcome change from the awful sights he had just seen.  The child crawled forward a bit until he was certain that he was totally hidden, and then stopped, breathing heavily.  Making himself as small as he possibly could, he squeezed his eyes shut, feeling horribly alone.  Waterfalls of tears flowed down his cheeks as he listened to the sounds of destruction:  huge explosions, crumbling buildings, and agonized cries.

He just didn't get it.  How could anybody make monsters like the bad robots?  What kind of person made things just to hurt other people?  It was wrong.  Horribly, terribly wrong.  Everybody knew that.  Even Trunks, who at four years old didn't know a whole lot, knew that much.  It was impossible to imagine how somebody couldn't.

Slowly, the noises began to die away, though they remained present.  Encouraged by this nonetheless, Trunks opened his eyes… and nearly choked; two pairs of feet, one in brown boots and the other in blue shoes with green socks sticking out of them, stood right beside his hiding spot.  He remembered the boots very well; the bad lady-robot had been wearing them on the day she'd tried to get him.  That the shoes and socks were being worn by the bad boy-robot was an easy guess to make.

Trunks began to quiver like a warm-weather animal that had somehow gotten lost in the arctic, and bit his lip to keep himself from crying out in fear; his heart beat against his ribs as furiously as the wings of a caged hummingbird.  What was he going to do if they found him here?

He heard a heavy grunt, followed first by a strange gurgling sound, then by a light thud.  Pressing his teeth so hard into his lip that he drew blood, he stubbornly kept still and silent.

_Be brave, Trunks,_ he told himself in his mind, over and over again.  _Be brave._

"Hey!" he heard the bad lady-robot say in an angry voice.  "That one was _mine_, Seventeen!  That's not fair!"

"It isn't my fault that you moved too slowly," the bad boy-robot returned smoothly.  "You snooze, you lose, Eighteen.  Don't blame me."

The bad lady-robot growled.  "Don't blame you?  You've been hogging all of the fun all day, just like you always do!"

Another explosion rocked the earth under Trunks, who promptly tried to curl up even more tightly.  "Then you'd think you'd be used to it by now."

"Man, the things I put up with out of you!" the bad lady-robot sighed disgustedly.  Her legs slowly rose out of Trunks' vision.  "Come and get me when you're ready to leave; I'm going to find my _own _fun in this place!"

Trunks heard a whooshing sound, and guessed that the bad lady-robot had flown off somewhere; he then heard the bad boy-robot mutter, "Sisters."

Even though only one of the bad robots was still around, Trunks didn't feel much safer.  Each of the bad robots was enough trouble on its own.  He wished that Gohan-san were here; _then_ he would feel safe.  Gohan-san would protect him.

"Now where did everybody go?" the bad boy-robot called out playfully.  "Yoo-hoo!  Come out, come out, wherever you are!"  An eerie silence followed.  "All right, then.  I guess I'll have to make you come out."

Trunks flinched as the explosions started again, one directly after another in a brightly flickering chain of destruction.  Frightened by the blasts, people screamed out from their hiding places.  Tiny chunks of concrete skittered under the truck.

Through it all, the only things that Trunks could do were squeeze his eyes shut, press his face against the rough pavement, and pray with all his might to be invisible.

  


Gohan stopped in midair, high above the city that now looked like the site of a monstrous giant's small cooking fire.  Flames merrily chased each other from building to building in an infernal game of tag that had no winners.  Skyscrapers---those of them that were standing---blazed like torches, lurid warning lights to all that may come near.

Even at his altitude, Gohan had to struggle to breathe in the heat rising from the burning metropolis.  A heavy cloud of smoke rolled over him, drawing tears from his eyes and coughs from his throat.  He levitated himself above the cloud to clear his lungs and wipe his eyes.  Blinking, he refocused his gaze.

Finding Trunks in this mess was proving more difficult than he'd thought; it had been necessary for Gohan to take several detours in order to avoid being spotted by the androids.  Added to that were the disorienting effects of the combination of suffocating heat, blinding smoke, and falling debris; Gohan had given up counting how many times he'd lost track of Trunks' ki and had to gather himself again.  This was another one of those times.  Frustrated didn't even begin to describe how he was feeling right now.

_Blast it, Trunks, what were you thinking, coming here?_ he thought furiously, glaring through his golden aura at the destruction down below.  _I **told** you that it wasn't safe to be in a city!  Haven't you listened to a word I've said?_

Gohan shook his head; now was no time to curse the kid.  He just needed to find him.  Closing his eyes, he took in a breath far more exquisite than the ones he'd had in the past while and cast his senses outward, orienting on the last place he'd felt Trunks' ki.

It wasn't there.  This didn't concern Gohan terribly, as the toddler's ki had been moving at a fairly steady rate throughout the entire search; _that_ fact had been encouraging, for it meant that Trunks was alive and unharmed.  Undeterred, Gohan cast himself out further.

Still nothing.  His eyes snapped open as worry began to flutter in his chest; there was no way that Trunks could have travelled very far since the last time he'd sensed him.  There was simply no way.  The flutter of worry in his chest rose to become a lump of fear in his throat, and he swallowed it, hard; the anger in his aquamarine eyes had been washed away by a flood of concern.  He couldn't feel Trunks' ki anywhere.  Could the child be…

_No.  No!_ he screamed mentally, tightly clenching his fists and baring his teeth.  _It's just me, like always.  Trunks is out there!  He **is**!  I'm just not concentrating hard enough!_

Gohan narrowed his search, intensifying the focus.  For several seconds, he felt nothing… but then exhaled in relief as he picked up the familiar throb of Trunks' ki; it wasn't far from the toddler's last location.  How could he have missed it before?

The realization struck him abruptly, and he gasped; Trunks' ki was much lower than it should have been:  about as weak as a normal human's.  Gohan suppressed a shudder at the thought of what kind of injuries would cause the child's power to decrease so drastically.

"You have no idea how lucky you are that I'm around to bail you out, kid," he said aloud before racing toward the toddler's ki.  As he did so, he muttered one more sentence, under his breath.

"Don't you _dare_ die on me!"

"Ughh!  Hideous!" Android Eighteen spat disgustedly, tossing aside a pale blue sweater.  She turned and sifted through the clothing rack that stood next to her, critically eying each garment.  Stopping at one that passed the initial inspection, she pulled it off the rack.  "Maybe this one…"

She turned back to the full-length mirror, pressing the item of clothing against her body to see how it would look on her.  It was a sleeveless dark green dress, designed to be close-fitting on a slender frame like her own, with long slits up the sides that stopped at about mid-thigh.  Cocking her head to one side, Eighteen assessed how it altered her appearance.

After a moment, she dropped it, frowning distastefully.  "No.  I _don't _think so.  Whoever would wear _these_ clothes needs to have their optic sensors checked."

Thoroughly unsatisfied, she exited the abandoned and half-destroyed clothing store.  What a waste of time that had been---honestly, the things these humans thought passed for fashion.  Eighteen sighed heavily, placing her hands on her hips.  Today was such a bust; Seventeen stole all her fun and this wretched city couldn't provide even one decent new outfit as compensation.

She was about to track down her brother and drag him away from this boring city by his scarf if she had to, when something in the sky caught her attention:  a golden streak, moving to deliberately to be a windblown line of flame.  Upon realizing what it really was, she grinned wickedly.  "Well, look who's here!"

Chuckling softly, she tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ear, and took off after the golden streak.  Seventeen was going to be _so_ jealous when she told him about this.

It seemed that she was going to have the most fun today, after all.

A suffocating wave of heat assaulted Gohan's lungs, forcing him yet again to lift himself upward to cooler, fresher air; he breathed it in large gulps, determined not to stop for very long.  If Trunks really was as badly hurt as his weakened ki suggested, he didn't want to waste any time in getting to him.  Shaking his head to dispel a hint of dizziness, he gathered himself to shoot forward---

"Well, hello there."

Startled, he whipped around to face the owner of the low, yet distinctly feminine voice that had just spoken, already knowing whom it was.  It seemed strange that a voice more sultry than the air below could come out of someone whose face was as cold as it was beautiful, but these qualities were flawlessly combined in Android Eighteen, who floated a mere few feet away from him, smiling.  Tensing, Gohan resisted the urge to gulp.

This was all he needed.


	7. 

v:* {behavior:url(#default#VML);} o:* {behavior:url(#default#VML);} w:* {behavior:url(#default#VML);} .shape {behavior:url(#default#VML);} Disclaimer: I do not own any part of DBZ in any way, shape, or form; I'm just playing around with the lives of a few select c houle Normal houle 2 226 2001-11-08T20:36:00Z 2001-11-08T20:36:00Z 10 4125 23515 home 195 47 28878 9.3821 

**Disclaimer:  **I do not own any part of DBZ in any way, shape, or form; I'm just playing around with the lives of a few select characters.

The Burden of Hope CHAPTER SEVEN:  "Why Won't You Help Them?!"  Trunks' Accusation 

Fire.  It danced almost hypnotically through the city, lulling the inhabitants to sleep with the heavy waves of heat it exuded.  It reduced both rock and metal to liquid, mixing the two substances together most unnaturally.  It devoured wood, but did not taste it, for its tongues were pointed upward, trying to lick at the two figures suspended in the air high above them.

Yet even here, out of the blaze's reach, flames still burned.  These flames were cold, but no less intense, and no less deadly; they flared behind the pale eyes of each of the two figures:  one a woman, her power an artificial gift, and the other a boy, his power a natural birthright.  The woman's lips were curved upward in a pleased smile, while the boy's were tightly pressed shut in a firm line.  Still and silent, they stared at each other across the small space which separated them.

_Wonderful,_ Gohan thought bitterly.  _Just wonderful.  This is what I get for not paying attention!_  His growing concern for Trunks had clouded his mind as surely as smoke from the burning city clouded the sky, and he'd somehow forgotten the possibility of running into the androids.  Mistakes, by their very nature, always exacted a price, be it large or small.  No doubt, this particular mistake had the potential to be especially expensive; it could well cost him an arm and a leg---and several other important body parts if he happened to be exceptionally unlucky.

"Who would have thought that you would show up again so soon?" Android Eighteen asked pleasantly.  Her brows lifted, and her eyes curiously scanned the area around him.  "Where's your little friend?  You just get sick of the brat one day and decide to ditch him?"

Gohan growled angrily, his eyes narrowing.  He felt his ki rise in response as a wave of rage rippled through his aura, making it more brilliant than the flames below.  _Just get sick of him one day?_  She dared say such a thing?  The soulless witch!

Seeing his reaction to her words, Eighteen broadened her smile.  "My, my.  It looks like I've touched a nerve."  She folded her slender arms over her chest.  "Well, what are you waiting for, kid?  Don't you want to make me regret what I just said?"

_I certainly do, you vile little…_  Gohan choked off the thought before he finished it.  No; he wasn't going to let his fury control him.  If he wanted to live long enough to find Trunks, he needed to listen to reason instead of rage; he had no illusions about his chances in direct combat against Android Eighteen.  He may well need to fight a running battle, and slip away at the earliest possible moment.  It was an extremely dangerous prospect, but it seemed as though it were his only chance…

Clearly annoyed, Eighteen frowned testily.  "I haven't got all day, you know.  Are you going to start this or not?"  Gohan tensed further, but took no aggressive action; with an impatient sigh, the android unfolded her arms.  "Very well, then.  If you're not going to do anything, then I guess I will."

In a barely perceptible blur, she shot forward; instinctively, Gohan threw himself into a steep dive, narrowly dodging her attack.  He yelped in surprise as he felt her hand powerfully grip his ankle, and grimaced in pain as she wrenched it sharply to one side.  Before he could react, he was met with the most nauseating sensation of being whirled in rapid circles, the wind a nearly solid barrier pressing against the front of his body; he then felt himself being hurled in a direction that he assumed was downward.

Gohan grunted in pain as his back slammed into the roof of a building, sending cracks radiating out in several directions.  He forced his eyes open---and saw Android Eighteen diving at him, fist cocked.  Gasping, he hastily rolled to one side; Eighteen's punch shattered the concrete where his chest had just been.  Taking advantage of the situation, Gohan sprang from his hands and somersaulted into the air to smash both feet into her back; the force of the impact nearly sent the android crashing through the roof.

Blasting upward, the boy raised his hands over his head, the back of one laid flat against the palm of the other.  He wished that he has the time to gather more ki, but knew that Eighteen's distraction would only last a few short seconds.  "_Masenko-ha!_"  The golden ki bolt shot forth as he thrust his hands down in front of him; the building below exploded into an immense cloud of dust, and concrete chips rained down with a soft patter.

Not daring to pause, Gohan raced off in a random direction.  He hadn't the luxury of time to re-orient himself on Trunks' ki; it was far more important that he be alive to find it when he was blessed with an opportune moment---

Pain erupted through his face as something hit him between the eyes with the force of a meteor strike, reversing his forward motion for a few seconds before he managed to stop himself.  Gritting his teeth, he carefully fingered the bridge of his nose; he winced as he felt a tiny hairline fracture.

"Aww," came Eighteen's voice, filled with mock-concern; startled, Gohan looked up to see her casually lower her fist.  "What's the matter?  Afraid that I ruined your cute little face?"

Gohan acknowledged her with a tight smile.  Blinking the stars out of his eyes, he wiped away a trickle of blood from his nose.  His first escape attempt had certainly turned out to be fruitless.  He would have to make sure to get it right the second time; it would be foolish to count on getting a third chance.

"So what's with all this running away?" Eighteen went on.  "It's an annoying habit that you seem to have developed.  You were a lot more fun a few years ago; you actually stuck around and tried to put up a fight.  I guess you just don't want to suffer the same fate as all of your pathetic friends."

Gohan bared his teeth, growling ferally; if she mocked his friends just one more time…  "That was three years ago, you battery-charged witch!" he almost screamed, his voice cracking with fury.  "My friends have nothing to do with this!  Leave them out of it!"

A cruel grin spread across Android Eighteen's face, and she chuckled softly.  "Now why would I do something like that, kid?  You seem to start thinking the most absurdly cute things at the mention of them---like that you're actually capable of _avenging_ those foolish weaklings!"

It was the last, callous, straw; he would hear no more of this.  With a ferocious scream, Gohan launched himself forward, his fist catching Eighteen in the stomach; gasping more in shock than in pain, the android drove her knee into his chest, following that strike with a vicious punch to the boy's cheek.

Feeding off the sideways momentum fro the last blow, Gohan spun and delivered a kick to her side; Eighteen grunted and began to plummet.  The boy raised his hands, readying a ki blast---and only had time to gasp in surprise before a blast of Eighteen's own hit him full-force.  Pain crashed over him like a tidal wave against shoreline rocks, and he felt his body go limp and the wind pressing against his back as he dropped from the sky.

Slowly, the burning agony subsided, and Gohan managed to stop his descent.  His breath hissed through his tightly-clenched teeth; his nose was nearly overwhelmed by the scent of his seared flesh.  Dazedly, he opened his eyes to see Android Eighteen floating before him, a few stray hairs hanging in front of her dirt-streaked face.

"Now _that's_ more like it!" she said excitedly.  "Come on, kid; take another shot at me!  Try and see if you can take me down!"

Snarling, Gohan gathered himself to do just that… but instead stopped, mentally cursing his foolishness.  _Baka!  What about Trunks?  You won't be able to find him if you're dead!  Get ahold of yourself!_

"What's wrong this time?"  Eighteen growled impatiently; with a sigh, she placed her hands on her hips.  "How long do you expect me to put up with you?  Quite honestly, I've just about had it with all of your hesitation; I think that it's time I ended this pitiful excuse for a battle."

Gohan didn't even see her move; less than an instant after she finished speaking, it seemed, she buried her foot in his chest.  He heard and felt bones crack and gagged as blood and saliva spurted forth from his mouth; his body was propelled toward the ground, smashing through the spire of one of the taller buildings in the city.  Before he could stop himself, something hard slammed into the middle of his spine; the boy cried out, but that cry was cut short as another blow stole the air from his lungs.

Gohan was barely aware of the fact that he was beginning to fall again; his mind was drowning in a sea of pain and oxygen deprivation, desperately clawing its way toward the life-giving clarity that lay just above the dark waters.  Ever so slowly, his mind struggled upward, toward lucidity.

At last, he broke the surface; the world came back in one startling instant.  Gohan looked over his shoulder to see the ground rushing to meet him at a disturbingly high speed.  He was about to stop his descent, when an idea occurred to him.

Twisting his body to face downward, he brought his hands together, gathering his ki.  At the last affordable second, he let it free and executed a right-angled turn as the blast propelled a huge cloud of dust into the air; he dove through the broken window of an abandoned building and stopped to catch his breath.

He knelt for a long moment, chest heaving with each laboured breath; carefully, Gohan prodded his stomach, checking the extent of his injuries.  One rib broken… another three cracked… possibly some internal bruising…  All in all, the wounds were nothing over which to trouble himself; he'd lived---and for that matter had _fought---_through worse.

An outraged cry assaulted his ears.  Though it wasn't necessary, Gohan glanced out the window to see Android Eighteen standing in the crater that his blast had created; she had clearly expected him to be lying in it.

"Blast you, you sneaky little brat!" she shouted furiously.  "Where are you hiding?  I'm not letting you get away with making a fool out of me!  Come out!"

_Can't waste time sitting here; I've got to get moving._  Gohan dashed across the room, limping a bit on his injured left ankle, and carefully leapt out of a window on the other side of the building.  He focused his ki a little, levitating a few inches above the ground, and shot away; behind him, he heard the rumbling of the explosions that Eighteen was causing to draw him out of hiding.

After a few moments, he halted, placing one hand against the wall of a miraculously undamaged building to steady himself.  What in the world had he been thinking back there?  He knew better than to attack either of the androids and was lucky to have come out of the fight in as good a condition as he had.  So Android Eighteen had insulted his friends; what could he do about that?  Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  Just like three years ago.  He was such a fool.

Shaking his head, Gohan straightened.  The past was unimportant; he needed to focus on the present, on finding Trunks.  He strained his senses, remembering how weak the toddler's ki had been the last time he'd checked… there.  Straight ahead, and not far away; by sheer luck, Gohan had fled right toward him.  The adolescent sighed, relieved; soon, both he and Trunks would be able to leave this dead city.

As Gohan approached, however, such hopes were dashed---he'd been stupid to have gotten them up in the first place.  Intermittent explosions warned him that his young companion was not alone---and that the company was not pleasant.  A quick glance back confirmed the presence of the lurid light from other, more frequent blasts; Eighteen's search for him continued unabated, which meant that her brother was the one ahead of him, the one that he might have to go through to get to Trunks.

"What am I?  Cursed?" Gohan groaned aloud; he sighed in exasperation.  "First Android Eighteen, and now Android Seventeen.  I can almost hear fate laughing at me; this is probably the funniest thing that it's ever seen.  Good grief, Trunks, you're a whole lot better at getting into trouble than I ever was!  Let's both hope that you're as lucky as I used to be in getting bailed out of it!"

Screams.  Explosions.  What was it like to hear sounds other than these ones?  Trunks wasn't sure that he knew anymore; it seemed as though he'd been listening to them for every second of his life.  Tears flowed endlessly from his tightly-shut eyes, rivers of liquefied fear and grief; no matter how many of them he heard, each scream was another person being hurt by the bad boy-robot and he just couldn't stand it.

All he'd wanted was to go home.  That was why he'd come to the city:  to find his mother; instead, he'd found only terror and death.  What he wanted now was to get away before the bad robots could get more people… and before they could get _him_.  But he knew that that was impossible, at least without Gohan-san around.

The sounds stopped suddenly.  Cautiously, Trunks raised his head a bit, blinking his tear-filled eyes open.  A wide trail of blood stained the ground in front of him, but he looked at it without emotion; it was only blood, after all.  He'd seen it lots of times before; the sight of it had never really bothered him all that much.  Far more interesting was the surrounding silence.  What did it mean?  Was this horrific nightmare finally over?

Trunks waited---waiting being all he could really do at the moment.  He did so for what he was quite sure was a very long time.  Nothing seemed to be happening; maybe it was safe to come out now.  Fighting back the part of himself that was screaming at him to stay exactly where he was, the child slowly inched forward on his hands and knees.

He should have listened to his fears.

Mere seconds after one of his hands peeked out from under the truck, a hard impact slammed into the air, sending both the vehicle and Trunks hurtling backward.  The truck smashed against a building, the metal creaking as it folded against stone; Trunks grunted in pain as his shoulder struck the ground and he rolled to a stop, lying facedown.

He lay still for a moment, waiting for the aches in his body to fade.  Slowly, the child pushed himself up on his hands.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pair of feet in blue shoes; one of those feet shot up and kicked him in the stomach, drawing out a cry of pain and flipping him over onto his back.  Trunks folded his arms over his stomach, whimpering.

"_Must_ you whine like that?  It's really annoying."  Trunks opened his eyes to see the bad boy-robot looking down at him, a mean expression in his grey eyes; then the bad boy-robot's face scrunched up a bit, as though he were thinking about something.  "You look kind of familiar.  Haven't I seen you somewhere before?"  After a few seconds, he smiled.  "Oh, I remember you now.  You're the little runt that that brat Gohan saved a few days ago.  How'd you manage to lose him?"

Trunks didn't even try to answer; fear dried his throat, and his stomach still felt as though it were being stabbed over and over again with a dull knife.  What was he going to do?  What _could_ he do without Gohan-san?  Nothing… except wait for the bad boy-robot to get him.

Still, the child tried to shrink away as the bad boy-robot bent to reach out for him.  It was useless, of course; the bad boy-robot grabbed a fistful of Trunks' light sweatshirt and lifted him up to eye level.

Trunks only stared, not bothering to struggle; he knew that he wouldn't be able to get away.  _Gomen nasai, Gohan-san.  Gomen nasai,_ he desperately apologized in his mind.  _I shouldn't have run away.  I'll never, **never** do it again!  I promise!  Just come and save me, **please**!_

"Too bad for you that he's not here this time," the bad boy-robot whispered evilly.  "Not that he'd be able to do any good; I'd kill him, too.  Easily.  Still, it's less fun this way; he might have tried to put up a fight.  _You_ on the other hand…"

Trunks yelped in surprise as the bad boy-robot flung him into the air.  Panic fluttered in his chest; any number of awful things could happen to him now, and he didn't care to find out what any of them were.

Gasping, he saw a bright blue beam of light racing toward him.  He'd seen those light beams before; he knew what they could do.  Helpless, the child closed his eyes and waited for the hit that would take him away forever.

  


Gohan rounded a corner in time to see Trunks' tiny body being tossed into the air.  A brilliant flickering light in Android Seventeen's hand caught his attention, and he knew in less than an instant that the toddler was about to die.

_No!  Trunks!_

Without thinking, Gohan surged forward in a nearly invisible blur and sprang into the sky between Trunks and the pseudo-ki blast.  He wrapped his arms around the toddler, pulling him against his chest as he took the blast full on his back; he grunted at the force of the impact, but suffered no damage---while the blast was more than enough to kill Trunks, it was not powerful enough to harm Gohan while he was in Super Saiyajin form.  Before the flash from the impact could dissipate, he dove behind a pile of rubble.

"Trunks?" he whispered softly, wanting to ensure that Android Seventeen would still be oblivious to their presence.  Carefully, he loosened his grip on the little boy's body, ready to examine the injuries that had made his ki so weak---

"Gohan-san!" Trunks crowed, lifting his head, blue eyes alight with joy and thankfulness.  Gohan was too stunned to hush him; he'd expected him to be badly hurt, his ki had been so low.  Yet here the child was, with a livid bruise over his right eye and a thin trickle of blood running form his bottom lip, but otherwise completely unharmed.  How…

Utterly shocked---though not unpleasantly so---Gohan opened his senses, and found Trunks' ki to be just as strong as the day that he'd first sensed it.  Though it hardly seemed possible, there was only one explanation:  Trunks had somehow instinctively stumbled onto ki suppression.

"I was hoping you'd co…"  This time, Gohan had wits enough to smother Trunks' mouth with his hand; every muscle taut, the older boy listened for signs that they had been discovered, but only heard the distant roar of flames and the occasional chunk of concrete crashing to the ground.  Slowly, he lowered his restraining hand.  Trunks, apparently having taken the hint, remained silent.

Both boys ducked their heads as the ground shuddered from the shockwave of an explosion.  Peeking over the pile of debris, Gohan saw that it had occurred fewer than one hundred feet away… and that it had flushed out a group of a dozen or sow people.  One of those people, before he had a chance to get very far, shrieked hideously as the slender hand of Android Seventeen punched lazily through his flesh.

Sighing bitterly, Gohan returned to his crouched position to wait out the remainder of the attack.  Sounds of pain continued to ring out like notes from a mutated bell, but he paid them no mind; he had already done the only important thing:  rescuing Trunks.

"More people are being hurt, aren't they, Gohan-san?" Trunks asked solemnly, eyes clouded with sorrow.

Gohan nodded slowly.  "Hai, Trunks."

The look on Trunks' face shifted to confusion.  "Well?"

Gohan's brow wrinkled.  "Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to help them?" the toddler questioned.  "I'm okay, now; I'll sit and wait right here so you can go and stop the bad robots from hurting them."

Puzzled, Gohan frowned.  What in the world was the kid talking about?  "Trunks, I'm not going anywhere."

"B… but… you saved _me_…" Trunks protested shakily, his lips quivering and his eyes watering.  He raised an arm and pointed to where the screams of the helpless victims could still be heard.  "And those people… they… they need help, too.  Y… you've got to…"

"I don't have to do anything," Gohan said firmly, his expression hardening.  "I only came here to find _you_.  Whatever happens to anyone else is no concern of mine."

Trunks' eyes flared angrily, and Gohan was startlingly reminded of the child's father; the little boy had never looked more like Vegeta than he did at this moment.  "Why not?  How come you'll only help _me_?  The bad robots will get all of those people, and it's all because you won't help them!"

Disturbed and astonished, Gohan found himself unable to speak.  What had gotten into this kid?  He'd never seen him this way:  eyes blazing with fury, jaw set stubbornly, tiny fists clenched so hard that they shook convulsively.  What had happened to the reserved, innocent toddler that Trunks had shown himself to be, and when had he been replaced by this raging, venomous accuser?

"You're supposed to help them!" Trunks cried hoarsely, tears ceaselessly running down his cheeks.  "Why won't you?  Why?  They need help!"

"Trunks, I…" Gohan began, glancing up nervously; if he didn't get Trunks calmed down, the child might give away their position.  Besides, the things that he was saying were making him extremely uncomfortable.  "I…"

"If you're not gonna do anything, then I will!"  The toddler abruptly whipped away from him and started to dash out from behind the pile of rubble.  

Gohan's hand shot out, grasping Trunks firmly yet gently by the shoulder and pulling him back.  "Trunks, no!"

Trunks struggled violently, grunting with the effort, but could not break the older boy's grip.  "No!  Let me go!" he squealed.  "Let me _go_!  They need help!"

Gohan used his free hand to cover the child's mouth again, all but silencing him.  "Stop it!" he whispered harshly into Trunks' ear.  "You'll get both of us killed!"

While Trunks' efforts slowed, they did not stop; he was determined to break the older boy's grasp.  Gohan held him tightly, not daring to loosen his grip even the tiniest fraction, though there was no danger of the little boy breaking it; he continued to do so for several minutes after an empty silence descended upon the city.  Then, reluctantly, he released him.

Trunks glared at him over his shoulder, eyes narrow and silently accusatory.  Suddenly unable to look at him, Gohan bowed his head; he slid out of Super Saiyajin, his eyes and hair becoming as dark as his mood.  "Gomen nasai, Trunks.  I… I…" he tried almost inaudibly, feeling strangely compelled to apologize, but incapable of finding the right words to say.

Soft, quick footsteps scuffled away from him; looking up from under his eyebrows, he saw Trunks disappear around the pile of debris.  Gohan let him go, feeling unworthy to be in the toddler's presence, though not quite sure why.  What did the kid want from him, anyway?  There was nothing that he could have done to rescue those people; he'd done nothing wrong by staying back.

_"How come you'll only help **me**?"_ Trunks had asked him.  Gohan suddenly realized that he knew the answer, and it shamed him; he hadn't helped those people… because they'd meant nothing to him.  Over the days they'd spent together, Trunks had grown to matter---enough so that Gohan was willing to risk his life to find him.  Anyone else, on the other hand…

Gohan sighed, disappointed in himself, and rose to his feet.  He gazed over the rubble to see those who were fortunate enough to survive crawling out of their hiding places.  And Trunks… Trunks was kneeling amid the scattered bodies of the last group of victims, shoulders shaking---no doubt from grieving, frustrated sobs.

Gohan stared silently at the child:  a child who had been ready to rush headlong into a hopeless situation because he couldn't stand by and let innocent people be hurt.  _I used to be like that,_ the adolescent realized abruptly.  He'd once cared about people so much that he would not hesitate to step up in their defence.  Such concern had vanished somewhere along the line, and Gohan didn't need to think in order to know where.

He sighed again and stepped over to stand beside Trunks; the little boy made it a point to ignore him, shifting to one side and turning his head away.  Depression creasing his features, Gohan knelt next to him and folded his hands in his lap.  For a few silent moments, he stared at the corpses that lay in front of him in a bloody array, listening to the toddler's quiet sobs.

At last, he spoke softly.  "Gomen nasai, Trunks.  Really.  But there wasn't anything that I could have done to help these people.  I'm not powerful enough to defeat the androids; whether I fight them or not, a lot of people are going to die.  It's a fact that I've come to accept.   Maybe I've accepted it too much."  The lines of sorrow around his eyes deepened.  "Things like this used to make me angry---furious, actually.  I know what you're thinking:  it's not fair that these people were killed.  And I know that those thoughts hurt.  The thing is, Trunks, sometimes things can happen that make them not hurt anymore.  One of those things happened to me a few years ago; that's why I don't seem to care about all this killing."

Feeling drained, Gohan stopped talking.  He didn't know what kind of effect that his words would have on Trunks---if they had any effect at all; at the very least, he hoped that the child would start speaking to him again.  He held no expectations that his pain would be understood.  How could it be?  Trunks was only four years old, and while his upbringing probably couldn't have been called sheltered, it had been far less painful than Gohan's own.

"Gohan-san?"  He jumped at the sound of Trunks' quiet voice.  Turning his head slightly, he saw the child gazing at him sombrely.  "What made you stop hurting?"

Gohan didn't answer immediately, only looked at him.  At a little boy who had already seen too much that was horrible, but wasn't numb to it.  "You don't want to hear about that, Trunks.  It's a terrible story.  It would only upset you."

"But…"

"No," Gohan refused, shaking his head.  He stood.  "We should leave.  There's no reason for us to stay here."

Trunks glanced around, sympathetically watching the few haggard survivors before rising to his feet and nodding once.  "Hai."

As the two walked, a question that had been relegated to the back of Gohan's mind pushed itself to the forefront and refused to be ignored.  "Trunks?"  The little boy looked up at him quizzically.  "Why did you come here?"

Lowering his eyes, Trunks frowned thoughtfully.  "My questions made you feel bad.  I didn't want to make you feel bad anymore, so I sneaked away to find Mama."

"To find your mother," the older boy repeated.  "Um… Trunks, I hate to tell you this… but you're mother wouldn't be here.  This isn't the same city where you and she got separated."

"It isn't?"

"I'm afraid not, kid."  Gohan's brow wrinkled in sympathy when the child's face fell.  "You really miss her, don't you?"

"Hai," Trunks responded softly.  Then:  "It's been a real long time since you've seen your mama, right?"

Gohan shifted uncomfortably.  "That's right."

"Don't you miss her?"

"Hai, I do," the words escaped his lips before he realized that he'd said anything.  But it was true; Gohan missed his mother a great deal.  He missed her smile and her laugh.  He missed the way that she comforted him when he was depressed, and the way that she kept him company when he was sick.  He even missed the humiliating way she doted on him in public, the way she constantly insisted that he use his spare time to study, and the way she yelled at him when he got into trouble.

"Then," Trunks continued, interrupting his thoughts, "you should go and see her."

Gohan almost stopped, struck with conflicting impulses.  His mind told him not to be stupid, that his mother would see only death in his face, and would be better off if she didn't have to do so.  His heart told him that he'd caused undue pain to both himself and his mother by staying away for so long, that she was likely heartbroken and had spent all this time mourning him as if he were dead.  The two entities, mind and heart, warred within him for dominance.

But this war ended quickly.  Strangely, the choice wasn't difficult at all.

"You know something, Trunks?" Gohan replied, looking down at the toddler and surprising himself by smiling a bit.  "I think you're right."


	8. Bulma's Sleepless Nights; Chichi's Unexp...

Disclaimer:  I do not own DBZ, the universe, or the characters featured in this fic.  They are the property of Akira Toriyama and a whole bunch of big corporations. The Burden of Hope 

CHAPTER EIGHT:  Bulma's Sleepless Nights; Chichi's Unexpected Guests 

"Blast it, where did that thing go?  I know I saw it around here somewhere," Bulma grumbled, sifting through the tall stacks of books and various other forms of scientific literature that stood precariously on the desk in front of her.  Numerous volumes dropped to the floor with undignified thuds; magazines slipped from their perches to slap to a halt upon what had already fallen.  Bulma ignored all of this, intent on her search.  Her hands stopped suddenly.  "Aha!  Here we go."

She pulled a slim book away from the piles, and simply looked at it for a moment before reseating herself in her chair and opening the cover.  Taking a swig of coffee from the mug that lay beside her laptop, she cursed her weariness.  This was no time to sleep, only early evening; she had important work to do.  The most important work that she would ever do in her life.  She really didn't know how long she had been at it; a lack of sleep blurred time.

Perhaps to say that she had a lack of sleep was an understatement; Bulma couldn't remember the last time she had seen her bed, or even rested her head, pillowed upon her hands, on the smooth surface of the desk.  Still, despite the thick fog that sluggishly rolled through it, some part of her mind had kept the hours and days more accurately than any clock.  Almost nine days.  At the thought, her blue eyes watered; she tightened her lips, but made no attempt to stop the tears.  She may as well let them keep coming until there were no more of them left.

The pain of losing Trunks still stabbed at her heart, less sharply, but no less deeply.  It was the worst thing that could happen to a mother, to lose her child, no matter the child's age.  A mother shouldn't outlive her son.  In these nine days, she had ruthlessly set herself upon the task that would be a tribute to Trunks---to all slain victims of the androids, really, but _especially_ to him:  the time machine.  And no matter how many years it took her, even if it were all the years of her life, she would complete it; once Bulma fastened her mind on something, she never released it.  Her determination had always been one of her best qualities.

Her lids grew heavy again, and she blinked.  Irritated, she shook her head and took another sip of coffee, though these actions did nothing to increase her alertness.  She wiped a hand across her face.  Maybe it would be better if she took a break and went to sleep; there were few benefits to having difficulty concentrating, especially when it came to devising a way to twist the very fabric of time.  Having a clear head could only work to her advantage.

"No," Bulma said to herself, her voice barely above a whisper.  "Not yet.  I've got to finish with this book, first.  _Then_ I'll get some rest.  I can go on for a little while longer."

Resolved on this course of action, she set to work.  It helped that the subject matter of the book was as interesting as it was helpful:  a theory on the creation of wormholes.  Some of Bulma's fatigue seeped from her body as, with deft fingers, she typed pertinent information into her laptop.

The light in the Capsule Corporation library gradually began to slip away, pulled back by the setting sun, making the light from the laptop's screen painful on Bulma's already-strained eyes.  She cursed inwardly, not at all pleased at the prospect of working in the dark again.  With the electricity still down---she supposed that she ought to be helping her father fix it, but her own project was consuming every drop of her energy---there was no way to combat the darkness.  How ironic it was that she was in the Capsule Corporation, the most powerful and advanced technological empire that had ever existed, and did not have access to such a stupidly simple device as a common flashlight.  It annoyed Bulma to no end.

"Oh, that's just it," she growled softly, typing in the command to save her work.  "I don't have any interest in going blind today."

Standing, she tucked the laptop under her arm and strode out of the library, stumbling a bit as she did so.  Kami, she needed sleep.  Her stomach rumbled a little, reminding her of another bodily need that she'd been neglecting lately.  Perhaps she should eat, too---goodness knew her mother was terribly concerned about the number of meals she'd missed.  Hunger certainly couldn't have been helping her concentration level.

Bulma shook her head; no, sleep was what she needed most.  Of course, that didn't make the trek to her room any easier.  Curse the elevators for being non operational; she now had to climb three flights of stairs.  Weren't her legs weary enough?

Hundreds of muttered cursed later, she was able to set her laptop upon her desk and flop thankfully onto her bed.  Sighing loudly, she let herself go limp, feeling as though her body were melding with the soft mattress.  Her eyes glanced at the mirror, and she frowned.

Dark, heavy bags puffed out below Bulma's eyes---eyes that were slowly becoming bloodshot.  Her pale hair lay in a mass of fierce tangles.  Her cheeks were a bit sunken, gradually becoming gaunt, the result of too many missed meals; skin that had previously displayed a healthy glow was now sallowing.

She looked terrible.  Normally, this would have bothered her more than it did now; she'd always prided herself on her looks, always been a beauty, and had always painstakingly cultivated her appearance.  Such a dishevelled image was not something that she would have wanted to present even to herself, let alone the rest of the world.  But she had an excuse; she was a grieving mother for goodness' sake.

Bulma shifted onto her side, half-curling into a foetal position.  Outside the window, darkness had claimed most of the sky, only leaving a fading band of lavender on the horizon.

Lavender.  Like Trunks' hair.

Angrily, she rolled onto her other side, eyes squeezed shut.  Blast it, she was crying again.  Salty tears soaked her pillow.  Just as before, she didn't bother to try and stop them; there was no point, however much it rankled.  Besides, she needed to get her emotions out.  If she didn't, they would only get in her way later, ruin her focus.

She would not allow that to happen.  She needed everything she had.  She _would_ complete the tribute to her son.

No matter what.

Chichi had never gotten used to the feeling of an empty house.

Not that the house was actually empty, of course; she still had her father here.  The soft-hearted giant of a man had scarcely left her side during the past few years.  Chichi was grateful for that… but his company was not the company she craved; she dearly missed her husband and her son, and, for the millionth time, wished that she could have them back.

Sighing softly, she lifted the lid of a cooking pot and stirred its steaming contents with a wooden spoon.  She repeated the process with the next pot, and the next one, and the next one, and the next one…

Startled, she paused.  Her kitchen looked like that of a large restaurant preparing a banquet for over one hundred overeaters; various pots bubbled on the stove, numerous cutting boards overflowing with chopped vegetables dominated the countertop, succulent meats roasted to perfection in the oven…  She'd made too much again.  Somehow, even after all this time, it was still so easy to forget…

"Chichi-chan, are you all right?" 

Hurriedly, Chichi swiped a hand across her eyes before turning to face her father, who was sitting at the table and staring at her concernedly.  "I'm fine, Papa," she said as brightly as she could.  "There's nothing wrong with me.  You must be imagining things."

Ox-King frowned as though he didn't believe her.  "It's okay if you still miss Goku and Gohan, honey."

She whipped her attention back to the stove, flicking back a few strands of long black hair that had escaped from the severe bun into which she'd styled them.  "I told you, Papa; I'm all right."

Thankfully, her father seemed to be willing to leave things at that.  Chichi didn't need him to worry over her; she was a grown woman, after all, and could handle herself just fine.  She'd always been treated as though she were more fragile than the thinnest sheet of glass.  At that thought, she suppressed a scoff; had that been true, she'd have been shattered beyond repair years ago.

Anyone who'd endured what Chichi had would have to be strong.  On more than one occasion, her husband had been gone for weeks or even months at a time---he always just _had_ to go off to save the world, didn't he?---leaving her alone to raise their son; being a lone mother was by no means easy work.  What had been worse had been that for the majority of these occasions, her son had been gone as well.  If being a solitary mother had been difficult, being a solitary and _childless_ mother had been much more so.

Of course, whenever Gohan _had_ been home, Chichi had made sure that he stayed there.  And what better way to do that than to pile upon him several months' worth of schoolwork?  Besides, he'd been a smart boy, and very curious; Chichi liked to think that he hadn't completely resented the studying, despite his high-voiced protests and desperate pleas for more free time to go and play.  Sometimes, she'd almost relented---he used to give her the most adorably pitiful puppy-faces---but she'd been adamant.  Her child would stay exactly where he belonged:  at home with his mother.

"Hon, I can tell you're upset," her father began again.  "Maybe you'd feel better if…"

Again, she whipped around.  "I am _not_ upset!" she screamed, startling her father so much that he tumbled out of his chair.  "Where did you get the idea that I'm upset?  I'm perfectly calm!"  She flung the wooden spoon across the kitchen, sending it clattering into the wall; yanking off her apron, she stormed out of the room.

Chichi all but collapsed onto the couch, and her fingers, still strong from the long-ago days when she'd been a fighter, nearly punched holes into the throw pillow that they gripped.  Desperately, she wanted to cry, but no tears would come.  She hadn't wept since… when?  Then it came to her:  since a few months after she had lost Gohan, when she'd at last stopped crying herself to sleep over the fact that almost her entire family was dead.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.  She wasn't supposed to be widowed and bereft of her child before she'd reached the age of thirty.  She was supposed to be happily married, with she and her husband raising their son---Gohan would have been about thirteen now, she thought sadly---and living their days together blissfully.  But things were not the way that they were supposed to be.  They rarely had been, actually, even before the arrival of the androids.

The first few years had been normal enough, after Chichi had tracked Goku down at the twenty-third Tenkaichi Boudokai and reminded him of the promise he had made when they'd both been children.  They'd made their home---where she remained to this day---in the woods near Mount Paozu; it was rather far from any city, but the beauty of the area more than made up for the isolation.  While Goku hadn't exactly been the perfect husband---and had actually thought that marriage was some type of food, before Kurilin had explained things to him---he'd tried, in his own way.  Chichi had always believed that he'd loved her, though it was sometimes difficult to see; for all of his outgoing personality, Goku had never been terribly expressive that way.

Only a few months into their marriage, she had become pregnant with Gohan.  It still brought a smile to Chichi's face that she'd had to explain the mechanics of pregnancy to her husband.  Though she'd tried to be matter-of-fact, she'd blushed the whole time, and had needed to explain a few things more than once before Goku had finally declared that he understood.  Chichi had ended up giving birth in their bed, Goku having been off fishing or something when she'd gone into labour---though he'd gotten back in time to witness the birth---so she'd been unable to get to the hospital.  She seriously doubted, though, that anyone could have convinced him to take her if he _had_ been there---the man who had saved the world from the Red Ribbon Army, and Piccolo Daimao had had the most unfathomable terror of needles.

For four years, things had been the way that they were supposed to be; her husband had been home, and she'd had a wonderful, intelligent son whose academic gifts she'd nurtured to their fullest extent.  Life was just like Chichi had always imagined it as a little girl.

Then everything changed.

At the time, Chichi had decided to blame the whole thing on Goku;  after all, he had convinced her to let him take Gohan to Muten Roshi's island to introduce him to all of his old friends.  And what had happened there?  Her precious baby boy had been kidnapped by an alien claiming to be her husband's brother, and Goku had had to sacrifice his life to rescue him.  Then, without even having the courtesy to tell her anything about it, that demon creature, Piccolo, had taken Gohan with him to do who-knew-what.  All of that could have been avoided if Goku and Gohan had just stayed home that day.  So she'd preferred to think, anyway; however, blaming others eventually gave way to simply wanting her family back.

Chichi had thought that she'd gotten her wish after the battle against the Saiyajins was over; she'd been with Goku and Gohan again---they may have been badly injured, but they'd at least been around.  Little had she realized that this was not to last long before something else interfered:  Nameksei.

Now, she'd been as saddened as anyone over the other fighters' deaths, and certainly wasn't opposed to bringing them back to life, but…  But Gohan had insisted on going.  And worst of all, had insisted on going for Piccolo's sake.  No matter how many times she'd pleaded with her little boy to stay home because it was too dangerous, and she'd worry over him constantly, he simply hadn't been willing to listen.  Chichi hadn't known how to handle this.  She was his mother.  How could he push her aside for the sake of reviving a creature who had, countless times, tried to conquer the world and hadn't cared who he'd have to harm or kill to do it?  It had confused her, hurt her; she'd felt as though Gohan---who'd only been five years old, then---were slipping away from her, never to return.   

The next few weeks had probably been the hardest ones of her life up to that point.  Her son was off in space, probably doing any number of dangerous things that could possibly be imagined, and her husband insisted upon sneaking out of the hospital before he was even close to being fully recovered.  Why couldn't he have just waited?  He'd only been making things worse.  Chichi knew that all of the others had thought she was being too overprotective, but what was wrong with wanting to make sure that her family was all right?  They were just too stubborn to realize that she'd been doing what was best.

Of course, Goku had eventually succeeded in getting out of the hospital---Muten Roshi had told her that that overweight slob Yajirobe had given him a senzu bean---and gone off to Nameksei without so much as saying goodbye to her.  She'd been alone again.  Was she ever to have an intact family?

As it turned out, yes, she was.  Gohan had been back first---a year or so before his father---and she'd lavished him with all the attention that he'd surely lacked while being stuck on Nameksei.  Once Goku had arrived back on Earth, and defeated that Frieza creature, life had proceeded to be normal again---or as normal as it could get, anyway.  But something else had been there, lying in wait, poised to take it all away from her when she'd least expected it.

Chichi almost _did_ cry this time; her fingers tightened on the throw pillow, at last managing to punch through the fabric and sink into the soft stuffing inside.  The symptoms had been subtle at first:  a little less energy for physical activity, a slight loss of appetite…  Of course, these things had been difficult to notice in Goku---especially the appetite factor---since he'd had far more than the average man in these respects.  Small signs such as these had gone completely unnoticed.  It hadn't been until one day when he'd scarcely been able to climb out of bed that Chichi had known that there was anything wrong at all.

Naturally, she'd been incredibly worried; nothing like this had ever happened to Goku before.  She'd done her best to take care of him, but nothing had seemed to work.  His condition had simply kept deteriorating.  He would clutch at his heart, and have horrible dreams that he could not remember upon waking.  And gradually, his spells of consciousness had become less and less frequent, almost to the point of non-existence.  Knowing what was coming, Chichi had informed the others about his condition, but she hadn't told Gohan.  How could she break that sweet little boy's heart by telling him that his father was dying?

She'd sat by his side the entire last day of his life, unwilling to be absent when he died.  Near sunset, his face and muscles had relaxed; a few seconds later she'd heard a soft voice whisper, "…Tousan…"  Unnerved, Chichi had glanced up just in time to see Gohan bolt from the doorway and into the hall.  She'd let him go---there had been no way for her to catch up to him if he didn't want her to---and simply remained on her knees, sobbing for a long time.  Goku was gone.  All of the other times, Chichi had known that he would be back, no matter how long it took, but this time was different.  This time there was no coming back.

The next few months were filled with loneliness.  Chichi and her family had become more distant, not speaking to each other as much as they used to.  She'd pushed Gohan further and further into his studies, trying to give him something to take his mind off his father's death, but she doubted that it had worked at all.  Almost every time she'd seen him, he'd either looked blank, or as though he'd been about to cry.  And for all that she'd managed to hide the outward signs of it for his sake, she hadn't felt any better than he had.

After the sixth month, Chichi had begun to feel better, like she might have been able to begin moving on… but yet again, she was to be thwarted.  One morning, she'd heard a harsh clatter in Gohan's room and had rushed in to investigate, only to find his desk chair lying on the floor and his window open, the curtains flapping in the breeze.  She'd rushed to the window and looked up to see her little boy flying off, surrounded by blue flame.  She'd called his name, but if he'd heard her he'd given no sign of it.  That was the last she'd ever seen of him…

A soft rapping sound caused Chichi to sit up, blinking in confusion.  Where had that come from?  Could she just be imagining it?

It came again; no, she hadn't imagined it.  Turning her head, she stared at the front door.  Someone was there, and whoever it was, by the softness of the knocking, didn't seem sure that he wanted her to know that.  Chichi moved toward the door, opened it… and froze, her mouth hanging open in disbelief.

Before her stood a lean, dark-haired boy who could have scarcely been in his teens, and a much smaller boy of whom she barely took notice.  The dark-haired boy had his hands folded behind his back, and regarded her uncertainly with his black eyes.

"Ohayo, Kaasan," he said shyly.  His eyes darted around self-consciously before coming to rest on her again.  "Uh… so… um… is there room at the table for two more?"

Chichi fainted.


	9. A Calming Interlude; The Son Family Reun...

Disclaimer:  Haven't we been through this before?  Several times?  DBZ is not mine. The Burden of Hope 

CHAPTER NINE:  A Calming Interlude; The Son Family Reunion 

Gohan knelt beside his mother.  "Kaasan?  Kaasan," he said gently, shaking her shoulder a bit; she didn't respond.  Sighing, he lifted her from under her arms and dragged her toward the couch.

"Is Chichi-obasan all right?" Trunks asked, trotting alongside him and looking a little concerned.

"Hai, Trunks, she's fine," Gohan answered absently, adjusting the throw pillows under his mother's head.  It seemed that she hadn't changed at all---fainting in shock.  "She's just real surprised to see me.  That's all."

Quick footsteps shook the house, and Gohan looked up from his mother's recumbent form to see his grandfather's massive frame rush in from the kitchen.  The man appeared little different than Gohan remembered him, save for a few strands of grey in his beard; resting atop his head was the familiar yellow-horned hat, and framing his worried eyes were thick-rimmed glasses.  "Chichi-chan, are you all right?  I heard a thud and…"

Self-consciously, Gohan shrank back a little as his grandfather's gaze finally fell upon him.  "Ojiisan," he greeted quietly.

His grandfather blinked in surprise, and took off his glasses; wiping the lenses clean, he then put them back on.  "G… Gohan?  But how did you…  But you're supposed to be…"

"Well, I'm not," Gohan said as his grandfather trailed off; he smiled slightly.  "It's really me, Ojiisan.  I'm home."

Silence now filled the air.  Gohan could think of nothing else to say.  He'd gone so long without seeing his family that it was difficult to find any words that sounded right.  In truth, speaking in itself was sort of uncommon for him at this point; before he'd rescued Trunks, he'd carefully avoided any contact with people, and so had little opportunity to exercise his voice.  He talked to himself occasionally---a habit picked up from his six months of survival training when he'd been four---but it was much easier to speak to oneself than to others.

"And I'm here, too," Trunks piped up, a hint of annoyance in his voice.  He was apparently mildly irritated that he was being ignored.  Both Gohan and his grandfather turned toward him.

"Trunks?  What are you doing here?  Where's your mo…"  Ox King stopped, seemingly incapable of forming many complete sentences.  Trunks lowered his eyes sadly, and his fingers fidgeted uncomfortably.

Gohan frowned sympathetically at the toddler before returning his gaze to his grandfather.  "Uh… Bulma's not here, Ojiisan.  It's… well… sort of a long story."  He turned as his mother moaned and stirred a bit.  "We ought to wait for Kaasan to wake up first, before I tell it.  Maybe I should get a wet cloth for her…"

"No, you stay here," Ox King interrupted.  "I'll go get one."

As his grandfather left, Gohan sat on the table, close---but not too close--- to his mother.  He felt sort of strange being right by her side.  He didn't think that he was ready for that just yet; he needed some distance, some room to collect himself and his feelings.  Part of him could not believe that he had actually come back home.  Standing at the front door, surrounded by everything he had left behind three years ago, he'd been so overcome with a sense of fear and discomfort that he'd almost turned away.  Actually bringing himself to knock was one of the greatest tests of will that he'd experienced in his entire life.

He studied his mother's face, his mind registering minute differences in its appearance since he'd last seen it.  It seemed a little paler and thinner than before, and a few lines of age had appeared around her eyes and mouth.  Age?  No; Gohan knew that wasn't the case.  The lines were from sorrow, from grief.  He could recognize that easily; many times, he'd seen his own reflection in the water, and the face that stared back at him was that of a wrinkled old man, rather than a smooth-skinned young boy.  Loss drained away youth in the body as well as the soul.

Ox King re-entered the room, and gently placed a soaked washcloth on Chichi's forehead; instantly, she stirred, mumbling, "Gohan-chan…"  Gohan bit his lip, suddenly feeling quite uncomfortable.  What was he going to say to her, after all this time?

Slowly, Chichi blinked her eyes open and shifted her head a bit to look at her father.  "Papa?" she asked in a dazed voice.  "Oh, Papa, the strangest thing just happened; I imagined that I saw Gohan-chan standing at the front door."

"You didn't imagine it, Kaasan," Gohan interjected softly.  His mother's gaze shifted onto him and went from confused to astonished.  "I'm really here."

"Gohan-chan?" she whispered disbelievingly, trembling with some powerful emotion.  Abruptly, she cried out in joy and leapt off the couch, flinging her arms around him.  "Gohan-chan!"  Gohan was slightly taken aback at how tight the hug was; he'd forgotten his mother's strength.  "Oh, my baby!  My precious little baby!  You've come home!  You've come home!  Where have you been?  I've missed you so much!  I thought you were dead…"  His mother continued to string together barely-coherent words, as he looked around nervously at the other two people in the room.  His grandfather was positively beaming, and Trunks, who had managed to boost himself into a chair, was staring with worried eyes, as though hoping with all his heart that he wouldn't get mauled like this when Chichi finally noticed him.

Awkwardly, Gohan wrapped his arms around his mother and hugged her back.  "It's okay, Kaasan.  It's okay," he soothed.  "I missed you, too."

After a few moments, Chichi pulled away, though with obvious reluctance.  She stared at him, her face so bright it would make the sun look like a dying ember; joyful tears ran unchecked down her cheeks.  His own discomfort all but forgotten, Gohan smiled; it felt good to see his mother so happy.  It felt good to see her at all.

"My sweet little Gohan-chan," she said.  Gohan shifted a little as his mother looked him over, suddenly feeling quite self-conscious under her scrutiny.  He was covered from the tips of his hair to the tips of his toes in dirt, and his clothes were a ragged, half-torn mess; his mother would have never allowed him look like this.  "Look at you.  You've grown up so much.  I can hardly believe it."

Gohan bowed his head.  "Yeah… well…"

"Is it suppertime?  I smell food, and I'm real hungry," Trunks interrupted, evidently having lost all interest in the mother-son reunion.  Gohan braced himself for his mother's reaction as she finally took notice of the toddler.  

"Why, Trunks-kun, gomen nasai.  I didn't see you there."  She blinked and looked around.  "But where's Bulma?  I know she must be here."

"Um… Kaasan," Gohan began as the little boy lowered his eyes and sniffled a bit; he knew that Trunks didn't like being pointedly reminded of his mother right now.  "There's a few things that we need to tell you, one of them being that we don't actually know where Bulma is."  He stopped, noting his mother's surprise… as well as the delicious blend of aromas wafting in from the kitchen; surely it wouldn't hurt to explain things over dinner…  "Uh… do you suppose we could talk about this while we eat?  Like I said to Ojiisan, it's a pretty long story, and… well… besides, I haven't had a good meal in a few years."

His mother stared at him for a few seconds before nodding.  "Sure, honey," she said gently.  "Now you just go get washed up so we can have dinner."

"Nani?"  He'd been gone for this long, and one of the first things she did was tell him to wash up for dinner?  Despite the fact that his mother had always been quite the stickler for rules, Gohan had assumed that she'd have been so overwhelmed at seeing him again that she would forget about a few of them for a while.

"Being gone for three years is no excuse not to get cleaned up for a meal, Gohan-chan," she explained sternly, though there was a smile on her face.  "Now, get to it.  Your grandpa and I will handle Trunks."

Inexplicably, Gohan felt himself smile, and, nodding briefly, hurried out of the room to do his mother's bidding.  Just like the old days, he supposed.  Always bending to his mother's will.  He recalled that he used to mind that a bit, being allowed to do nothing but what she told him, but right now he loved it.  Already, it made him feel so much more at home than he'd been mere minutes before; it was one of those things that one didn't think that he missed, but was exceedingly happy to have back.

He was surprised to discover that he was able to unerringly find his way to the bathroom; the map of his house must have been more firmly imprinted in his brain than almost anything else.  His hands clumsily turned on the faucet, quite unused to such a refined action.  Testing the stream of water with his fingertips, Gohan found the temperature uncomfortably cold, but stuck his hands in anyway; he was used to extremes and they didn't really bother him much.  Layers of dirt and grime stained the water a dull, solid brown, as though he were shedding darkened skin.  He splashed some of the liquid onto his face, and was surprised to find how much lighter it felt after that action---he hadn't thought that his face had been _that_ filthy.

Tuning off the faucet, Gohan looked up and regarded himself in the mirror; he still had grief-etched lines around his eyes and mouth, though they seemed slightly shallower than the last time he'd ever bothered to look.  Instead of a withered old man, he saw someone younger, though still not nearly as young as he should have been---perhaps some middle-aged war veteran.  Yes, that analogy fit.  Gohan was, after all, a soldier of sorts---or he used to be.  And the strange thing was, some part of him was saying that he should become one again; he frowned at that.

_This is all Trunks' fault, blast it,_ he thought.  Ever since the toddler's accusations during the attack a few days ago, he'd begun to question all of the things that he had done---and _hadn't_ done---for the past three years.  He felt a little ashamed, but there was nothing that he could have done against the androids.  Nothing.  And there never would be.

At least, that was what he preferred to tell himself.

Gohan shook his head; he would have plenty of time to worry about this later.  Right now, he had other matters that demanded his attention.  Like how to tell his mother why he hadn't come home until today.  How could he possibly explain things to her?  True enough, she had lost loved ones herself, but…  He bit his lip at the stab of pain in his heart.  But she had never been _responsible_ for losing her loved ones, like he was.  How could he make her understand?

These thoughts whirled through his mind in a dizzying loop as he made his way to the kitchen, where he saw his mother struggling to fit as many platters, mass quantities of food piled upon each one, as possible onto the relatively small table.  Gohan was a little surprised that his mother had made this much; it was almost as if she had known in advance that he and Trunks would show up, and had prepared a meal fully large enough to satiate Saiyajin appetites.

Sitting at the table were his grandfather and Trunks.  Ox King towered several feet over the table despite the fact that he was in a chair, while Trunks sat near him, his nose squarely level with the tabletop.  The size difference was so ludicrous that Gohan had to struggle to keep from laughing; nevertheless, he couldn't stop a grin from forming on his face.

"Gohan-san!" Trunks called out as he noticed him, motioning for him to come closer.  "Hurry and sit down.  Chichi-obasan keeps hitting my hands away when I try to take some food; she says she won't let me eat until everyone's at the table."  The child pouted.  "Hurry up!  I'm hungry!"

Gohan couldn't suppress a soft chuckle at the toddler's orders, and didn't hesitate to obey them.  After all, he was hungry, too.  With the scents of rice, steamed vegetables, assorted meats, and various other edibles thickly wafting into his nose, he was hard-pressed not to instantly devour the table-full of food and wait impatiently for seconds.  But, oddly, he remembered his manners and sat quietly; as he waited, his mother took her place at the table.

Now that he was allowed to do so, Trunks immediately began piling food upon his plate, stuffing several morsels into his mouth before they got there; the toddler's cheeks puffed out as though he were a squirrel looking for a place to store its supply of nuts for the winter.  Gohan didn't know if the child had ever known any etiquette, but if he had, it had clearly been forgotten in favour of something far more important:  dinner.

Gohan himself, on the other hand, still hesitated; his mother just kept staring at him lovingly, and it made him uncomfortable.  He almost felt that it would be rude to start eating while she looked at him that way.  Eventually, though, his stomach overrode his sense of self-consciousness, and he laid into the food, making sure, despite the fact that he was acting at a speed which bordered on blurring, to savour every last bite; he hadn't forgotten what an amazing cook his mother was.  The food platters emptied rapidly, falling victim to the naturally voracious appetites of two demi-saiyans, and in a mere few moments, offered not so much as a leftover crumb. 

Looking up, Gohan wiped a hand over his mouth to clean away any bits of food that may have missed their mark.  He wondered if his mother and grandfather had managed to snatch anything for themselves; it was difficult to grab even the tiniest morsel when eating with those of Saiyajin blood.

His mother only chuckled a little.  "I'm glad, now, that I ended up making so much," she said, rising from her seat to retrieve what looked to be another table's-worth of food.  "All the other times, I had to throw a lot of the extra away; making a banquet out of every meal is too much of a habit for me, but without you around, Gohan-chan, I haven't needed to."  Gohan blinked as his mother looked him over once again after she set the new dishes on the table.  "You look like you could have stood to have some of my cooking during the last few years, Gohan-chan; you've gotten a little too thin.  Why did you wait so long to come home?"

"W… well… I…"  Gohan bowed his head.  This was the question he'd been dreading.  Running an index finger along the edge of his plate, he tried to summon up the courage to answer.  He should just tell her the truth, and get it over with.  He should just let it out… but he couldn't.  He couldn't tell her.  She wouldn't understand.  "…I don't know, Kaasan.  I… I can't explain it.  Gomen nasai."

"It's okay, honey," she soothed.  "The important thing is that you've come home safe."

Ox King nodded.  "Yeah, we're just glad you came back, Gohan.  But how did Trunks end up with you, and what's this business about not knowing where Bulma is?"

Though relieved that he no longer had to explain the reasons for his long absence, Gohan still wasn't sure what to say; the meal was forgotten as he tried to find the proper words.

Surprisingly, Trunks spoke up.  "Gohan-san saved me from the bad robots."  All eyes turned to the toddler as he continued, "I couldn't see Mama anywhere, and the bad lady-robot tried to get me, but Gohan-san came and stopped her.  Then we got away.  Gohan-san's been taking care of me after that."

Gohan half-smiled solemnly; trust a four-year-old to give the most concise account of a long and complicated story.  

"You've been going up against the androids?" Ox King spluttered.

"It's only happened twice since… well… you know when," Gohan explained softly, still not looking up.  "Both times, it was only to help Trunks; it's not like I've made a habit of doing it, or anything, Ojiisan."

"And it had certainly better not become one, young man," his mother ordered firmly.  "I'm not going to lose my baby boy again to those monsters!  Is that clear?"

"Hai, Kaasan.  Very clear."

"That's my little boy.  Now," she continued, her voice softening, "what happened to Bulma?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Gohan saw Trunks curl in upon himself in silence, apparently finding something fascinating to look at on his empty plate.  He couldn't say that he blamed the kid; Gohan knew what it was like to not want to talk about the people one had lost, having kept his lips tight on the subject of his own pain.  And since the toddler had spoken up for him when he could find no words, he decided that it would only be fair if he returned the favour.

Raising his head, he cleared his throat.  "We don't know, Kaasan.  From what Trunks has told me, though, I think she's okay."

"How long ago was this?" Chichi asked, a note of worry in her voice.

"Uh…"  Gohan hesitated, mentally counting off the days.  Time hadn't been one of his main concerns for quite a while; he'd been too wrapped up in guilt to pay much attention to its passage.  As such, it took him a moment to do the rudimentary calculation.  "Maybe a week and a half ago, I think."

"A week and a half ago!" his mother shrieked, shooting out of her chair.  "Bulma must be worried sick about Trunks!  The poor thing, thinking she's lost her little boy forever; I know how she must feel."  Hurriedly, she began making her way into the living room.  "I'm going to call her and let her know that he's all right."

Gohan's gaze shifted to Trunks, who was now drumming his tiny fingers on the tabletop.  So this was it; soon, the toddler would be reunited with his family, too.  He knew that he should be happy about that, but some part of him didn't want it to happen yet.  Over the past few days, Gohan had grown used to the child's presence, and found a certain comfort in it---perhaps just the knowledge that he wasn't alone in the world.  He'd been alone for so long, he hadn't realized how much he needed to be around someone.  Without Trunks around, there would be no one.

Gohan tightened his lips; that last thought wasn't true.  He wouldn't be alone when Trunks was reunited with Bulma; he had his own family back again, was back with his own mother, who he had missed terribly without even knowing it.  Why, then, was he so concerned about this?  And anyway, it wasn't as though he couldn't go and see the kid whenever he wanted, so long as Gohan's mother would allow him out of the house.  Trunks would also be a great deal happier; it was clear how much he missed his family.  Wearily, Gohan sighed; he realized that he was just being selfish.  The child deserved to go home.

His mother returned, frowning worriedly.  "The phone's dead; I can't get through to the city at all.  The androids must have demolished the city severely if nothing's working after a week and a half.  Gomen nasai, Trunks-kun, but it looks like you're going to have to stay here for a while, until I can get in touch with your mother."

Trunks' face fell, and Gohan felt a pang of sympathy for the toddler.  The poor kid.  He'd probably been so looking forward to seeing his mother again, and that high hope had just been dashed.  Of course, there _was_ something that Gohan could do about that…

"I could take you home, Trunks," he offered quietly.  

Trunks looked up at him, hope shining in his blue eyes.  "Really?"

"No, you can't," Chichi interrupted.  Confused, Gohan opened his mouth to protest, but the angry scowl on her face hushed him.  "You just got back here, young man, and you are _not_ leaving me again.  It won't hurt Trunks if he has to stay with us for a few days."

"But Kaasan, I…"

"No buts, Gohan.  The matter is closed," Chichi said, and her tone, as it often did, brooked no debate; it was clear that she would not be moved.

"Hai, Kaasan," Gohan agreed meekly.  He supposed that she was right; Trunks would be fine.  A few days of _knowing_ that he was going to see his mother again had to be infinitely better than more than a week believing that he never would.  Or, as in Gohan's case, years thinking that he shouldn't.

In the meantime, Gohan decided that he should try to enjoy himself here as much as he could; after all, he was home now.  Turning back to the table, he resumed mortally wounding the food supply. 

  



	10. 

Disclaimer:  Once again, as stated many times before, DBZ is not a creation wrought from my own mind. The Burden of Hope 

CHAPTER TEN:  

"Tousan, Why Did You Leave Me?!"  A Super Saiyajin Was Born!

Gohan cast his eyes downward for perhaps the hundredth time that hour; his mother and grandfather could not seem to stop staring at him, even during the pauses in conversation.  He supposed that it was understandable---after all, he'd suddenly shown up at home after three years of being presumed dead---but that didn't mean that he had to like it.  He had never been comfortable being the centre of attention.

Turning his head a bit, he saw Trunks sleeping quietly in the cushioned chair that he had stubbornly appropriated for himself, a few stray strands of lavender hair falling over his eyes; the child had long since grown bored of talk not centred upon him.

Sighing softly, Gohan looked up.  "Uh… Kaasan, Ojiisan?  If it's all right with you, I'd kind of like to get some sleep.  It's been… well… sort of an exhausting day."

His mother smiled apologetically.  "Of course you can, honey.  Gomen nasai.  We've just been so happy to see you that we never even thought you might be tired.  You go on.  You do remember the way to your room, don't you?"

"Hai, Kaasan.  Thank you."  Gohan nodded briefly and hopped off the couch.  He was almost out of the doorway when his mother's voice stopped him.

"Gohan-chan, what do you think you're doing?" she asked sternly.

Confused, Gohan blinked.  "What do you mean?  You just said that I could…"

"So you're just running off without hugging your mother goodnight?" she accused, her voice obviously a little piqued.

He felt his mouth quirk.  "Gomen nasai, Kaasan," he said, giving her a short, slightly clumsy hug; he was no longer used to expressing affection, and it felt strange.

"That's better.  Now, off you go."  As he left the living room, he thought he heard her whisper, "He's home.  Thank you, Kami; my precious little baby is finally home."

Gohan's bedroom looked exactly as he remembered it.  Nostalgically, he traced his fingers along the rough wooden doorframe, ran them over the smooth, cream-coloured walls.  For a moment, he closed his eyes and smiled, memories of happier times seemingly drawn in through his fingertips.  The window was open, allowing the cool night breeze to caress his cheek; strange how even the wind felt better now that he was home.  Near the window sat his all too familiar desk, where he'd spent hours at a time studying geometry, and chemistry, and anything else that his mother ordered.  It still boasted a few small stacks of textbooks and notebooks, as though it had been awaiting his inevitable return.  Next to the desk was his bed, its blankets neatly draped over the mattress and its pillow generously fluffed, looking very inviting.

He let himself collapse onto the bed, revelling in its softness as his body sunk into it.  He sighed contentedly; this was so much better than lying on the cold, lumpy ground that he had slept upon for the past three years and he found himself wondering how he had endured such a thing for so long.  Turning onto his side, he idly lifted a notebook from his desk and opened the cover.  Inside, he found the solutions to complex trigonometry problems, written in a childish scrawl; surprisingly, he still completely understood how he had arrived at them.  Here and there throughout the book, he found a few poorly-drawn pictures that he had sketched when he hadn't really felt like doing his homework.  Most of them were of his friends, or a beautiful place in the woods, and a few of Icarus.  And on one page, there was one of his father…

Gohan slapped the book back onto his desk, tears stinging his eyes.  Thinking about his father was a great mood-wrecker.  For a few minutes, he'd been happy again, and now he'd gone and ruined it.  The fact that all of his memories of his father were good ones did not help the matter; that only made Gohan miss him more, sent him longing for the days when they had been together.  Shifting onto his other side, he willed sleep to come and thoughts of his father to leave.  The first part was granted to him, but the second was not; the memories attacked him mercilessly as he drifted into slumber…

  


"Kaasan, are you sure you don't want me to help you?" Gohan asked, watching his mother clear the table after lunch.  "It's really no trouble at all."

"I can handle it, Gohan-chan.  You get back to your studies," his mother refused smoothly.  "Don't you dawdle, young man; hop to it."

"Hai, Kaasan."  He slid out of his chair and walked back to his room, closing the door softly behind him.  For several long moments, he leaned his back against it, staring at nothing in particular.

He knew that something was wrong, but his mother wouldn't tell him what it was.  Every time he had asked her about it, she had shrugged it off and told him to just mind his studies.  He was well aware that she was trying to keep from hurting him, always turning back his questions, but…

But Gohan wasn't stupid; he knew exactly what was going on, and had for several days---he had just wondered if his mother would tell him.  It had been nearly a week since his father had last had a meal with the family, and in fact had scarcely been out of bed in much of the same timeframe.  Those would have been the first signs that something was amiss if Gohan hadn't already sensed an odd fluctuation in his father's ki; it seemed to flicker like a campfire trying to stay alight in a hurricane.

Even without any ki-sense, Gohan would have known.  His bond with his father was always underestimated; it was at least as strong as the one he had with Piccolo-san, and perhaps even stronger.  As such, he was always aware, on a purely instinctive level, of when something was wrong with his father.  This time was no different, however much he might wish it to be.  Knowledge was cruel sometimes, and he didn't want it right now.  He didn't want to know that…

…that his father was dying. 

A choked-off sob nearly took him to his knees, and he threw himself onto his bed, burying his face in the pillow as he wept.  He tried to muffle the sounds of his crying as best he could; there was no reason to add to his mother's worries.

_It's not fair.  It's not fair,_ he thought for the two millionth time.  Only nine years old, he would be losing his father for the second time---and it would be for good.  No coming back, this time, not even with the Namekian Dragonballs; they couldn't reverse a natural death, and death due to illness was just about as natural as it could get.  Gohan was beginning to believe that he was cursed.  Was he not allowed to have a father?  Had he done something so terrible in his life that he deserved _this_ as punishment?  If he had, he was sorry, sorrier than he had ever been for anything else, and would gladly pay any other price, but not… but not…

He started at a knock on his door.  "Gohan-chan?" his mother called softly.

Gohan swiped his hands across his face and leapt into his desk chair, flinging open the nearest textbook; he sincerely hoped that she hadn't heard him crying.  He looked over his shoulder as his mother opened the door, praying that his eyes weren't swollen and red from his tears.  "Hai, Kaasan?" he asked innocently.

Thankfully, she didn't appear to notice that anything was wrong.  "Honey, your grandpa and I are going to do some grocery shopping.  You keep on working, and we'll be back in a couple of hours.  And don't disturb your daddy, okay?"

Gohan had to swallow a sob at the mention of his father.  "Don't worry, Kaasan; I'll be good," he said, somehow managing to keep the huskiness out of his voice.

His mother gave him a small smile before closing the door again.  Alone once more, Gohan folded his hands on his desk and rested his head upon them.  In actuality, he had "disturbed" his father on several occasions---always when his mother wasn't around, of course.  Not once during his secret visits had his father been conscious, and Gohan had simply sat at the bedside, staring at him for as long as he could without crying---which was never more than a moment or two.

He waited for a few minutes, until he was sure that his mother and grandfather had left, and slipped out of his chair.  Padding over to his parents' room, he opened the door a crack, peeking inside before quietly entering.  Gohan didn't know why he bothered being quiet, what with his mother out of the house and his father nearly impossible to wake, but he felt strangely compelled to be silent, as one would be in a tomb.  He shook his head furiously at that thought, trying to banish it from his mind; the last thing he needed to do was draw such a morbid comparison.

Gohan boosted his small body onto the bed, and scooted over to sit next to his father, eying him with concern that grew more powerful with each passing moment.  At least his father seemed to be resting comfortably right now; his face, pale as it was, was completely relaxed.  His chest rose and fell steadily, though at a decidedly slow rhythm.  Such things made it easier to look at him, but not very much; his face blurred in Gohan's vision, and the boy realized that he was crying again.  Rather than trying to fight off the feelings of fear and grief, he succumbed to them, and buried his face in his father's shoulder, just like he used to do when he had been little and some harmless thing or another had frightened him.

"G… Gohan?"  He jumped at the sound of the weak, almost inaudible voice.  Lifting his head a little, he found his father looking at him with hazy eyes, his perpetually gentle smile touching his lips.  "Hey, why… why the… long face, kiddo?"

Gohan blinked.  "… Tousan?"  With a heart-wrenching sob, he threw himself onto his father's body, hugging him as tightly as he dared.  "You can't leave me.  You can't, Tousan," he managed huskily.  "Please… don't leave me…"

"… Gohan."  He ignored his father's voice.  "Gohan… look at me.  Look… look at me, son."

Slowly, Gohan did as he was told, and raised his head.  "Tousan… please…"

"Shh," his father hushed him.  "Now… listen, Gohan.  Don't be… so sad… over this.  You've dealt… with this kind of… thing before; you…can h… handle it.  I… know you can…"

Gohan shook his head miserably; he didn't believe a word about being able to deal with this.  The last time his father had died, Gohan had known that he would be back, but this time was _forever._  "No, Tousan, I can't.  I can't do it.  I…"

Feebly, his father chuckled, the same chuckle he always gave before he affectionately tousled Gohan's hair.  The boy half-expected his father's hand to gently come down upon his head, but inwardly knew that no such thing could happen---his father did not have enough energy left to lift his arm.  "Never… did believe in… yourself that much… did you?"  His father's eyes closed almost completely, and his voice grew weaker.  "I… never under… understood that.  You're stronger than… than you think, Gohan.  You'll be… be fine."

Terrified, Gohan watched as his father's face relaxed completely.  Could he be dead, now?  For a single, horrific moment, he believed this to be the case, but he mustered enough courage to press his fingers against his father's neck to feel for a pulse; the skin was unnaturally hot to the touch, but an irregular, sluggish throb existed beneath it.  He was still alive---for now, anyway.

The last words he'd spoken before losing consciousness came back to Gohan.  _"You're stronger than you think, Gohan.  You'll be fine…"_  His father was just trying to make him feel better---he always did that; the boy knew himself well enough not to overestimate his coping abilities.

"You're wrong, Tousan.  I'm not strong enough.  I'm _not_."

The next few days existed in Gohan's mind mainly as a blur.  Consumed by sorrow over his father's quickly approaching fate, he felt as though a sledgehammer were poised above his glass-wrought heart, eagerly anticipating the delivery of that one great, shattering blow.  And he knew, with dreadful certainty, that it would not be waiting much longer; his father had little time left.

While sitting at his desk---as per his mother's orders---he suddenly felt a cold emptiness in his stomach, which then spread through his veins, a replacement for blood.

**_No!_**

Gohan shot out of his chair, hurrying out of his room with speed he would have been amazed he possessed had he paid any attention to it.  Stopping at the doorway to his parents' room, nearly breathless with panic, he took one look…

… and the sledgehammer struck.

His father lay in bed, stiller than the death that had claimed him.  Even his hair, once always stiff and wild like all Saiyajins' hair, seemed to have gone limp and lay lifelessly across his forehead.  Desperately, the part of Gohan that refused to believe that this had happened searched for his father's ki; it searched with an intensity that had never before been equalled, nor could be again, and found nothing.  No fraction of his being could deny the truth.

_Tousan's dead.  He left me._

Gohan's vision blurred; his body shook convulsively.  Grief blocked his throat, but not before a single, heartbroken whisper escaped:  "… Tousan…"

He bolted.  He couldn't stand to look at his father's corpse.  His head light, heavy, dizzy, and throbbing all at once, he disorientedly fled the house.  While his body stumbled, his mind did not; it was completely focused on two words, burning them into his soul in a malicious, heart-rending cycle.

Tousan's dead.  Tousan's dead.  Tousan's dead… 

Gohan was vaguely aware that he knocked the front door off its hinges and noisily ran across the fallen slab of wood.  A few of his friends stood outside, but he scarcely noticed them.  He didn't _want_ to notice them; seeing their reactions would only make him feel worse, if that were even possible---which he seriously doubted.  What he did want was to be alone---as alone in body as he felt in spirit.  Disdaining the use of his increasingly clumsy feet, he launched himself into the air in a pale blue nimbus of fire.

Flight had once exhilarated Gohan, had been a beautiful escape from any minor troubles in his life.  The high-altitude winds toying with his unruly hair had once made him feel fresher, freer than he could ever be on the ground.  Now, those sensations were gone.  He couldn't escape the reality of his father's death.  He was now drained and imprisoned by heartache, never to be released.  This time, flight was merely a means to an end:  to take him far from any living creature.

He flew until exhaustion claimed him, scarcely having enough energy to float to the ground instead of falling.  His knees buckled and he sank onto the hard bank of a river, at the base of a roaring waterfall.  The noise was nearly deafening, but it could not overwhelm the sound of his thoughts any more than the waters could wash the ugly stain of anguish from his soul.

_How dare you leave me, Tousan!  How could you?  I told you not to leave me!_  Gohan balled his hands into fists, his fingernails cutting into his palms to create thin trails of blood trickling down his wrists.  Tears gushed from his eyes in such volumes that the waterfall was put to shame.  Throwing his head back, he wailed mournfully, his voice echoing on the rocks.

How could his father have done this to him?  How could he have left?  Didn't he know how this would make him feel?  His father had swung the sledgehammer that shattered his heart and now wielded the pestle that was slowly grinding the fragments into an ultra-fine dust.  A gaping void dominated his chest, demanding to be filled with something.  To be filled with anything.  It didn't matter what filled it, only that it did not remain empty.

Gohan felt it, then.  Something, buried deep inside some undiscovered corner of his soul, was rushing into the empty space in an unstoppable, savage torrent.  For a moment, he did not know what it could be, but then the answer came.  Though the feel of it was new, it was also tinged with familiarity, something that had risen many times before, but never so intensely.  Power.  It was power, more than he had ever experienced in his short, yet violent life.

He wailed again, this time as much in physical pain as emotional.  The power radiated outward from the place where his heart had once been, forcing its way into every nerve, every vein.  It throbbed through his bones, pounded against the underside of his skin, threatening to tear him apart if he didn't surrender to it, yet not promising that it wouldn't even if he did.  Every inch of his body screamed at him to give in, to stop the horrible agony before it could destroy him.

And give in Gohan did.

No longer meeting the tiniest hint of resistance, the power blasted forth from every pore.  Bright flashes nearly blinded him, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut; on top of his head, he felt his hair lift and stiffen beyond what was natural.  Another scream tore itself from his raw throat as his body seemed to feel like it was growing ever so slightly, adding a small amount of height and breadth to his lean frame.  The ground beneath him shook violently, and a heavy blanket of water splashed over him.

Slowly, the ground settled, and the pain dissipated.  Gohan cautiously lifted his lids, to find himself staring at the ground through a fiery aura that was not an icy blue, nor a warm white, but a brilliant, blazing gold.  He could still see the bangs that perpetually dangled just above his vision, even though they had lifted, and found that they were no longer raven black; instead, they were sun-yellow.  Gazing into the water to see his reflection, the boy discovered that his eyes were no longer onyx, but aquamarine.

Gohan trembled with disbelief.  This could not have happened to him; he was only a child… What right did he have to such power?  How did he even get it?  It felt wrong to have this power; it was something that rightfully belonged to his father and, more lately, Vegeta.  But not to _him._  Not to Gohan.

How on Earth had he just become a Super Saiyajin?

Astonishment, however, quickly gave way to harsh, bitter anger.  Forget how he got the power and whether or not he had a right to it---what good did it do him?  No matter how great it was, it couldn't have saved his father from whatever ailment had killed him; it was only effective against opponents that attacked from the outside rather than the inside, and there were none of those, now.  That made the power one thing:  worthless.

Another though struck him abruptly, and Gohan's rage dissolved into sorrow.  His father would have been so proud of him---becoming a Super Saiyajin at the age of nine.  His father hadn't lived to see it, though; it was because of that fact that Gohan had transformed at all.  If he could, he would trade the power in less than an instant just to have him back; all the ki in the universe would never be a substitute for his father.

"Tousan."  The word escaped his lips in the form of a choking sob, and Gohan bowed his head, shoulders shaking.  "Why… why did you have to leave me?"

His new power throbbed painfully in his temples, bringing on dizziness, and wave after rippling wave of nausea.  His vision hazed; the world around him began to spin.  No longer able to sit upright, he collapsed onto his side.  The golden aura faded just before he was enveloped by darkness.

  


Gohan blinked awake, confused for a moment about where he was.  He had expected to be lying on the ground near a waterfall; instead, he found himself not only indoors, but in his own bed.  Reason quickly reasserted itself, though, and he sat up, shaking his head to clear it.  His Super Saiyajin powers were years old, not brand-new.  And he was thirteen, not nine.

Wearily, he sighed, and wiped his hands across his face.  He hadn't thought about that day in a long time; being home again had clearly triggered it.  For obvious reasons, he preferred not to be reminded of the day that his father died.  That had been the day that everything had started going wrong; only more sorrow, pain, and hardship had followed.  Even after all this time, it still hurt him to think about it.

_But maybe it shouldn't, _Gohan thought.  He may not have being thinking about it every moment, but he had carried it with him all the way, never trying to lighten the load. He should have recovered from the grief in perhaps a year's time---enough so that he could return his life some semblance of normality, anyway---but the deaths of his friends at the hands of the androids had ruined that.  All those murders did was pile a greater burden upon his soul, one that he'd never thought would lift.  Perhaps he just hadn't _wanted_ it to lift; Gohan had always had a need to feel responsible for things---especially terrible things.  After all, his friends' deaths _were_ his fault.  Weren't they?  For the first time, he was beginning to doubt it.

Not thinking, Gohan climbed out of bed and moved to stand in front of his open window.  It was still night, probably a few hours yet until dawn.  The breeze was pleasantly cool on his face, and ruffled his hair almost affectionately.  Taking a deep breath, he quietly crawled out of the window---no need to risk waking his mother---and jogged toward a predetermined point.

There was something that he needed to do.


	11. Repentance to the Dead; The Unburdening ...

Disclaimer:  I do not own DBZ, as if that's a surprise---I've only said that ten times before in this fic, so why should the statement change now? The Burden of Hope CHAPTER ELEVEN:  Repentance to the Dead; The Unburdening of a Soul It was an unassuming place:  a plain of grass, unbroken by any flowering vegetation.  Here and there, small copses of trees whose leaves would have been a resplendent green had the sky not been dark dotted the landscape.  Nearby rose a great mountain---not by any means the tallest or most impressive peak in the world, but one that greatly dwarfed the rest of the scenery. But this mountain was not the most prominent sight here; rather, it was a small slab of stone perhaps two feet in height, straight, with a rounded top.  What made it so prominent was either its location---in the centre of the plain, in the shadows of neither the mountain nor the trees---or the fact that it was a man-made feature, in contrast to the natural ones which surrounded it.  Likely, it was a combination of both of these factors. While this area usually lay virtually undisturbed save for a few birds and squirrels, on this morning---for morning it was, despite the darkness---it hosted another guest.  A young boy, barely a teenager, knelt in front of the stone slab.  One of the boy's hands rested in his lap, while the other was extended toward the slab, fingers sadly tracing the letters carved into it. 

"Son Goku.  The world has lost more than its protector.  It has lost a beloved husband, a devoted father, and wonderful friend," Gohan murmured.  He needed no light to read the words; they had long ago been branded into his mind.  "Ohayo, Otousan."

Falling silent again, he let his other hand fall into his lap.  He stared solemnly, not sure what he could say next; after all, what words were there to speak to someone who had been dead for three and a half years?  Gohan was starting to wonder why he had come here.  If he had nothing to say, then there was no reason for his presence.  In his heart, though, he knew the reason.  He _needed to be here.  It was time to start letting go._

"I… I haven't been here for a long time," he continued at last, his voice soft, but sounding loud against the stillness.  "I remember I used to come more often, but… well… I've had a lot of other things to deal with, and I haven't been able to come and talk."

During the first few months after his father's death, Gohan had visited the grave every few days; he'd been too grief-stricken to come every day, yet too lonely not to come at all.  On each of the visits, he would talk to his father, trying to unload his sorrow and his pain, but he'd managed to do little more than repeat countless times how much he missed him.  That had only made him feel worse.

As for having "other things to deal with"…  He actually hadn't been dealing with them at all.  Instead, he'd been letting those things consume him, letting them infect his soul like an untreated wound.  They'd poisoned his spirit, his compassion, twisting him into someone that no one would recognize as Gohan.  For a long time, he'd thought that the poison had killed his spirit and compassion, but a week and a half ago, Trunks had proven him wrong; some wisp of his old self still existed within him, scarcely more tangible than a ghost, tenaciously clinging to life.  In Trunks, it had found a handhold, and was slowly pulling its way back.  But Trunks couldn't do everything; now was the time for Gohan to aid himself. 

"They're all gone now, Tousan," Gohan went on.  "Of course, you know that already.  You probably went to meet them right when they died.  Bet you were surprised when I didn't show up."  He chuckled humourlessly.  "Then again, maybe you weren't; you always had confidence in my ability to pull through.  A lot more than I ever had."

He swallowed a lump in his throat at the thought of his father's faith in him; it had never wavered---no matter what.  His father had believed in him more than anyone else ever had---even Piccolo-san.  Gohan had always tried his hardest to make sure that that faith was justified; he never wanted to disappoint his father.  

Convulsively, he dug his fingers painfully into his legs and bit his bottom lip, deeply ashamed of himself.  What had he been doing with his father's faith all these years?  Proving that he wasn't worthy of it---that was what.  He'd let himself become a bitter, emotionless shell, always running from his problems instead of facing them.

In short, Gohan had let himself become a coward.

"How about that, Tousan?  A coward, just like when I was little.  I've sure grown up, huh?" he said wryly, staring at the grave as though he might see his father's face in the stone.  "I'm supposed to be a warrior.  I never wanted to be, but I grew to accept that obligation.  I had courage once…" he trailed off, feeling hot tears on his cheeks.  Sniffling, he forced himself to speak.  "… and then I threw it away after one battle---the battle where I lost everything.  A real warrior keeps his courage, no matter what else he's lost.  Some warrior I've turned out to be, then; I don't deserve the title."

He sighed softly, again ashamed; he had abandoned everything that he'd learned since he was four years old.  Gohan would not use the excuse of only being a little boy when he did that.  On the day that his friends had died, he had ceased to be a child.  As such, he should have confronted his pain, not tried to hide from it.  He was confronting it now, though, at least---better late than never, he supposed.

"I guess I still have a few guts left, though," Gohan said slowly.  "I met up with Trunks a few days ago, Tousan.  You remember him, right?  Vegeta and Bulma's kid?"  Inexplicably, he smiled.  "I had to save him from the androids---more than once, actually; he's really good at getting into trouble.  Still, he's a good kid.  Sort of reminds me of the way I used to be."

A tide of old memories crashed over him, and would have taken him to his knees had he not been already sitting on them; as it was, he doubled over, letting silent tears fall from his eyes.  The way he used to be---when all of his friends had been alive.  Only with the others around---or at least knowing that they could be within a second's notice---had Gohan been able to be his gentle, compassionate self.  Had he been able to be the little boy that he was.

When was the last time he had truly been a child?  The last reunion, probably, as his father's death had stolen part of his childhood from him. They'd always tried to have those every few months, just to keep in touch.  Everyone would gather on Muten Roshi's island on an unbelievably beautiful day and spend all their time laughing and reminiscing about the old days.  Everyone save Vegeta, of course; somehow, Bulma had prevailed upon him to attend, but it had been simply impossible to get him to socialize.  He'd merely stood apart from all of the others, arms folded across his chest, and looked away as though the whole event were beneath him.

Naturally, Gohan had spent most of his time with Piccolo.  Though Gohan had basically seen his mentor whenever he wanted, he'd liked being with him at the reunions the best.  Those had been the times when he was surrounded by all of the people he loved.  He'd always been so cheerful around Piccolo, happily skipping along beside him, excitedly chattering about one thing or another, occasionally latching onto his leg in an affectionate hug.  Piccolo had always roughly kicked him off and scolded him in his gruff voice to not show such weakling sentimentality, but that had just been his way in front of others, and Gohan knew it; whenever no one was looking, Piccolo would always smirk at him slightly, and ruffle his hair a bit, and that had been enough for both of them.

Gohan knuckled his eyes to wipe away his tears and shook his head to banish the mental images.  "You all left me.  All of you," he whispered hoarsely.  "You left me with nothing.  I don't really blame you for it; there was nothing you could have done to avoid it.  But _I_ could've done something… if I'd been stronger… but I wasn't.  Gomen nasai.  I really did try, though.  Honest.  I just wasn't good enough.  I never am.  And because of that, I lost you all… my friends…"

A soft sound behind him pricked his ears; a low screech followed it.  Turning his head slightly, Gohan found himself staring into a pair of enormous green eyes.  These eyes were set above a stubby beak, which was open and letting out another screech.  A heavyset lavender body with dwarfed wings sat contentedly behind the head.  Again, memories flooded Gohan's mind, and attached to the memories was a name.

"Icarus," he breathed disbelievingly.  The little dragon screeched once again in greeting.  Gohan shifted to face him, and tentatively reached out his hand to stroke his beak.  "Hey, boy. What---Ack!"  Gohan squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away as Icarus ran his rough tongue over his face, covering it in less than a full lick; he fell back against his father's grave as the dragon crawled on top of him to continue his greeting.

Finally, Gohan managed to push Icarus off him and wipe his saliva-coated cheeks, chuckling a bit as he did so; the little dragon was so much like a puppy in his behaviour, right down to having followed him home after being rescued from the burning forest.  Gohan's mother had insisted that he take Icarus back to _his_ home, as she didn't want this "flea-ridden monster" in her house.  Thankfully, his father had found a cave not far from the house where Icarus could stay and Gohan could visit at any time. 

Icarus sat back on his haunches, and Gohan could almost swear that the dragon was grinning at him under his beak; the sight was enough to keep the boy smiling.  He had completely forgotten about Icarus, having been utterly consumed with the loss of his other friends in battle.  It seemed that he hadn't lost every one of them, after all.

He crawled back over to Icarus, and started petting his beak again; the little dragon gurgled happily.  "Hey there, boy.  It's been a long time.  I missed you."

Eventually, Icarus jerked his head toward the gravestone, letting out a questioning screech.  Gohan's smile faded into something more sombre, and he lowered his hand, the lightness of the past few moments erased.

"Hai," he whispered.  "I'm talking to Tousan again.  Just like I used to do all the time."  Gohan patted Icarus' head as the little dragon leaned forward a bit and nuzzled him sympathetically.  Many were the times when Gohan had been visited by Icarus as he sat, mourning deeply, in front of his father's grave; Icarus always seemed to know when he was upset, and did his best to comfort him.  This was probably the only time that it had ever really worked.

Shifting a little, Gohan turned his attention back to the grave, one hand absently petting Icarus.  "Hey Tousan," he said, a bit of happiness seeping back into his smile.  "Look.  It's Icarus.  I didn't get all of my friends killed, after all; I've got one left."  His smile vanished.  "Though I _would_ have gotten him killed if he'd been in the city that day.  Another death on my head.  Tousan, why did all this fall on _me_?  How come _I'm_ the only one left?"  He choked back a sob as he thought of Piccolo and Kurilin.  "Nevermind.  I know why."

Gohan sat silently for several minutes, trying to collect himself; he blinked away the wet film that insisted on forming in his eyes.  Bowing his head, he continued, "Maybe I would have taken all this better if you hadn't died first."  His free hand clenched into a convulsively shaking fist as his voice became a furious growl.  "Blast those androids!  I wasn't over losing _you _yet, and they went and took everyone else away from me!  But if you'd been there, they wouldn't have been able to!  You could have stopped them!  They were created to go after _you_, anyway!  If you hadn't gone and died…"  Gohan broke off abruptly, only now realizing what he'd been saying.  Where had these feelings come from?  How could he suddenly start accusing his father of being responsible for the others' deaths?

"Tousan, gomen nasai!" he apologized ardently.  "I didn't mean any of that!  I really didn't!  It wasn't your fault!  You couldn't help that you died…"  Gohan took a few slow breaths to calm himself.  Beside him, Icarus snuggled a little closer and screeched softly, trying, in his own pet-like manner, to cheer him up; Gohan absentmindedly scratched him behind the horns, and the little dragon gurgled in contentment.

"And while we're on the subject of passing blame," he went on after a moment, "let's talk about the person that I'm best at doing that to:  me.  If nothing else, I've always been great at that, huh?"  Gohan chuckled bitterly.  "I can't help it; it's the way I've always been.

"Do you know that I used to blame myself for your death, Tousan?  It's true.  I couldn't help but think that if I'd just told Kaasan that I knew what was happening, that she would have let me help take care of you, and that I would have made all the difference."  He shook his head.  "Silly, I know.  I'm over that now.  But blaming myself about the others… well, that's different.  And not nearly as farfetched."

Gohan concentrated on petting Icarus for a few minutes.  He knew that he was stalling, just trying to avoid his real reason for coming here, but he didn't care.  He'd allow himself to be a coward one last time.  After all, he'd been one for three years; what did a couple of more moments matter?  

"Three of them died before I even got there," he said at last.  Above him, the sky slowly took on the yellow-orange glow of dawn.  "Yamucha, Tenshinhan, and Chaozu.  I saw one of them falling from the sky while I was still too far away to help.  I don't know which one; I was too panicked to pay attention to whose ki had vanished.  If I had been there, then maybe…"

He stopped himself.  Maybe what?  Piccolo, Kurilin, and Vegeta had all been alive when he'd arrived at the battle, and what had ended up happening to them?  They'd been killed, too.  Gohan's presence had done nothing to save them.  If he couldn't have helped while he was there, why did he consider the deaths of Yamucha, Tenshinhan, and Chaozu his fault?  Logically, it made no sense.  All these years, he'd been blaming himself for something that couldn't have been helped.

Sighing softly, Gohan gave a slight smile.  One of the heavy weights on his soul lifted.  Those deaths weren't his fault, after all.  While he remained saddened by them, he no longer felt any guilt.  Not over those three, anyway.  The others, however, were still quite different.  But maybe he could face them a little more easily now.

"All right, Tousan.  I understand, now, that I couldn't have helped Yamucha, Tenshinhan, or Chaozu…"  He swallowed hard.  "… but what about Vegeta?  Couldn't I have helped him?  We _were_ both Super Saiyajin; it's possible that, if we'd fought together, we could've taken the androids down.  Isn't it?  I tried to help him, but he just brushed me off, and got killed."

Closing his eyes, he forced himself to envision the battle, and to think about it rationally; no good would be done if he let all of his feelings get in the way.  He hadn't seen Vegeta die; he only dimly half-recalled hearing him.  They'd each fought alone---Vegeta by choice, and Gohan by necessity, both ridiculously outmatched.  So what would have happened had they fought together?

Gohan tightened his lips; knowing the androids much better now, he had the answer.  Nothing.  That's what would have happened.  The androids had had less than no trouble defeating a Super Saiyajin, so fighting two of them at once would have made no difference at all.  No difference save for making the battle more entertaining for the androids before they decided to make the kill.

"Wow," he whispered, opening his eyes to look at his father's grave again.  "Who would've thought that admitting you were powerless could actually help the grieving process?"  He smiled for a second, but that smile quickly faded as his eyes watered and his lower lip began to tremble.  Admitting to being powerless was not always a good thing---not when being powerless came to having his two closest friends sacrifice themselves to save his life.

Not bothering to control himself, Gohan began to sob.  Icarus looked up at him curiously, and let out a concerned screech.  Gohan ignored him, his mind consumed, without prompting, with the vision of Piccolo and Kurilin rushing into the path of the pseudo-ki blast of Android Seventeen because Gohan was too weak to dodge it.  The scene played over and over again in front of his eyes, cruelly disregarding his silent pleas for it to stop.

"Wh… why, Tousan?" he managed.  "Why… why did they have to do that for me?  They weren't supposed to die!  It was supposed to be _me_!  Me!  Why does someone else always step in when I'm supposed to be hurt or worse?  How many times over should I have been killed?"  

Gohan continued to cry for several minutes, occasionally wiping his eyes and nose with the backs of his hands.  Each breath shuddered as it escaped his lips, and he slowly tried to calm himself.  He blinked numerous times in a futile attempt to erase his tears, and swallowed hard.  

"I know what you'd say to me about this," he said at last.  "That it isn't my fault.  That I shouldn't be beating myself up over it.  But it isn't that easy, Tousan.  Not for me.  How can I _not_ blame myself when my two best friends took a death-blast that was meant for me?  How am I supposed to get over something like that?  I… I…"

He squeezed his eyes shut again, willing some sense of reason to return to him.  He'd gotten over such a sacrifice before---when Piccolo had saved him from Nappa, but… but not until the plan to go to Nameksei to gather the original Dragonballs was formed; there had been a way to bring Piccolo and the others back.  Gohan had had a purpose to replace the guilt that he'd felt back then.  This time, really, it should have been no different; vengeance may not be the most noble purpose, but it was a purpose all the same---one that he should have had.

"They wouldn't want me this way, would they, Tousan?" he asked, frowning deeply.  "And you wouldn't either.  Piccolo-san would tell me to use my pain and rage against the androids instead of against myself.  The rest of you would tell me to never give up, that sooner or later I'll be able to stop them."  Surprisingly, Gohan felt his lips curve upward slightly.  "Hm.  You know, I always used to be really good at doing what people told me to do.  I'm a little out of practice, though; maybe I ought to try taking it up again.  Can't hurt any worse than the past three years, can it?"

Icarus seemed to note the change in his mood, and gurgled questioningly; Gohan turned his head to gaze fondly at the little dragon for a moment before turning back to the grave, feeling unexpectedly happy---almost like the weight of an entire solar system had lifted from his heart.  In its place was the weight of a planet, but that much Gohan could handle easily; he'd been doing that since he'd been Trunks' age.

"I think I will do that," he declared.  "But there's something else that I need to do first…"

"Gohan-chan!"

He jumped and spun around to see his mother standing a short distance away.  She'd clearly just gotten out of bed, because her hair was unbound rather than its usual severe bun, and she was wearing a heavy white housecoat.  A messy-haired and sleepy-eyed Trunks stood at her side.

"Gohan-chan, what are you doing out here?" Chichi practically shrieked.  "Why on Earth did you sneak out of the house?  Do you have any idea how worried I was when I went to check on you and you weren't in your room?"

Trunks frowned in annoyance.  "Hai.  Chichi-obasan was yelling real loud about it.  And I was trying to be sleeping!"

"Gomen nasai, Kaasan.  And Trunks, too," Gohan apologized, chuckling slightly.  He stood and made his way over to them, Icarus just behind him, following at an ungainly trot.  "I didn't mean to worry you."

He smiled down at Trunks as the toddler hesitantly reached out to stroke Icarus' beak; the child grinned as the little dragon screeched happily.

"Gohan-chan?"  his mother asked in a worried voice.  "Why here?  Are… are you okay, honey?"

Gohan glanced back at his father's grave, then at Trunks again before looking up at his mother.  His smile widening, he said, honestly, "I feel great."

"Are you sure?"

"Hai, Kaasan. I'm sure.  And," he began, giving his voice a determined edge, "I _am_ going to take Trunks home."  

Trunks perked up.  "Really?"

"Gohan-chan…" Chichi started, and Gohan braced himself for the harsh disagreement---but, surprisingly, it didn't come.  "All right, honey, _but_…"  Her expression hardened.  "…you come straight back home afterward.  Do you understand me, young man?"

"Don't worry, Kaasan," Gohan reassured.  "I'm not going to spend another three years away from home.  But both Trunks and I are still going to be here for a few more days, anyway, before we go."

"Nani?"  Trunks asked, apparently a little disappointed.  "Why can't we go today?"

Gohan faked an exasperated sigh and looked down at the toddler.  "Do you know how long a trip it is back to your house, Trunks?  I'm not going to _carry_ you all the way back there; my arms would get too tired."

"Then," Trunks began, his eyes watering a bit, "how am I gonna get back?"

"Simple," Gohan said, and paused for effect.  "You're going to fly."


	12. Sensei and Student; Trunks Takes to the ...

Disclaimer:  Boy, it's been far too long since I've had to write a disclaimer for this story!  Who would have thought that I'd ever be happy while proclaiming that I do not own DBZ? The Burden of Hope 

CHAPTER TWELVE:  Sensei and Student; Trunks Takes to the Air 

Gohan tightened the belt of his gi, looking down at himself and feeling a little strange; the gi was an exact replica of the one his father had always worn:  a bright orange garment on top of a dark blue shirt.  In fact, it probably was one of his father's, since it bore the sigil of Kaiou-sama; Gohan's mother had likely cut the arms and legs short to make it fit him---he'd known that she wouldn't allow him to remain in the ragged clothes in which he'd come home.  Where she'd been able to find boots in his size, though, was beyond him.

Sighing heavily, he ran a hand through his hair and exited his room.  He found his mother and Trunks in the kitchen, the former attempting to wipe the latter's mouth with a napkin; Trunks tried to struggle away from Chichi's fussing, but eventually gave up and let her finish.  Finally free of her task, Chichi looked up.

"Oh, Gohan-chan," she said softly, with a smile that was at once proud, sad, and wistful.  "You look so much like your father in those clothes."

Gohan bowed his head uncomfortably, folding his hands behind his back and sliding one foot back and forth along the floor.  "Um… well… I…"

"Gohan-san, come _on_!" Trunks urged, insistently pulling on the older boy's arm.  "I wanna fly!  I wanna fly so I can go home and see Mama!"

Smiling slightly, Gohan let the toddler drag him out the front door and into the clearing.  Icarus awaited them there---as Chichi _still_ refused to allow him in the house---screeching and flapping his stubby wings gleefully at their approach.  Trunks trotted up to him and patted him on the head---he'd taken quite a liking to the little dragon.

"Let's go, Trunks," Gohan said, waving his hand in a gesture to follow him.  "You too, Icarus.  Come on."  He took off at a slow jog, taking a path through open areas rather than the woods whenever possible so as to ensure that his two companions could keep pace. 

"Gohan-san?" Trunks panted lightly.  "Where are we going?"

"You'll see in a few minutes."

Gradually, trees gave way to shrubs, and the shrubs in turn gave way to grass, which waved gently in the soft breeze.  Gohan came to a stop near a fast flowing river---the same one in which he'd always fished with his father---and waited for Trunks and Icarus to catch up.  He couldn't say exactly what had compelled him to come to this place, since there was a perfectly good field right behind the house, but it had somehow felt fitting; he had decided to start listening to his feelings again.

Trunks stumbled to a halt beside him, swiping a stray strand of lavender hair out of his eyes with a small hand; Icarus circled to a landing, evidently having decided that flying was the best way to keep pace.  Suddenly a little nervous, Gohan looked down at his… pupil.  How exactly was he supposed to go about this?

"Uh… well, I guess we should get started…" he began uncertainly, scratching his head as he tried to think of where that starting point may be.

"Hai!" Trunks responded excitedly.  "So what do I do first?  What?  What?"

Gohan raised his hands defensively.  "Whoa, whoa!  Calm down, Trunks.  Just give me a minute; I've… never taught anyone before."

The toddler cocked his head.  "How did you learn?"

"Um…" Gohan started, and bit his lip as he remembered.  All of the training he'd experienced under Piccolo-san had been quite harsh, and the flight training had been no exception;  Piccolo-san had taken him high into the air and, without any warning, dropped him.  Naturally, Gohan had been so terrified that he'd been able to do nothing except scream and slam into the ground.  He'd suffered more than a few bruises---and nearly some broken bones---before he'd finally been able to catch himself with his ki.  "…I don't think we'll try that just yet.  Maybe we ought to start at the beginning.  Sit down."

Trunks looked as though he were about to protest, but Gohan gave him a sharp look, causing him to fall silent and obey.  Gohan sat across from him, hands upturned in his lap; here went nothing.

"Before you can get into the air," he explained as Trunks watched him intently, "you need to be able to control your ki.  So we'll start with that first.  I'll go slow; watch carefully."  He reached within himself, slowly pulling his ki into his hands and channelling it into a small, flickering ball of blue light that floated just above them.  

Wide eyes betraying Trunks' fascination, the toddler tentatively reached out an index finger and lightly touched the ki-ball.  "It's warm," he said softly, a smile stretching his lips.  "How do I do it?"

"Well, sit back and turn your hands up," Gohan ordered, forcing himself to refrain from smiling at the toddler's eagerness; Trunks quickly complied.  "Now concentrate on the centre of your body---that'd be your stomach---and try to find the warm spot."

Trunks closed his eyes and frowned in concentration.  After a moment or so, he sighed in frustration.  "Gohan-san, I don't feel anything!"

"And you give up too quickly," Gohan snapped, silently cursing the child's sort attention span.  Such a thing was common among four-year-olds, he was sure---common and annoying.  Had he himself been so irritating to Piccolo-san all those years ago?  If he had been, it was truly a miracle that the short-tempered Namekseijin had ever put up with him.  "Keep trying; it takes more than a minute to find it for the first time."

"How long did it take you?"

Gohan rolled his eyes.  "Look, do you want to hear my life story or do you want to learn how to fly?  Be quiet and concentrate."

Trunks' face scrunched as he tried to focus; his frown deepened, but he did not stop this time.  "It's in the middle, right?"

"Hai.  Just keep searching around there and you should be able to find it."

Gohan watched the toddler silently; he didn't think that it would take all that long for Trunks to find his ki.  After all, he had someone to help him along, to guide him on the path to his power.  Gohan hadn't; Piccolo-san had simply abandoned him in the wilderness and told him to figure it out for himself.  For the first couple of months, he'd been far more concerned with merely staying alive than finding his ki; despite the fact that his family lived in a house in the woods, Gohan had been extremely sheltered and had had little idea as to how to survive on his own.  He'd lived on a few tricks that his father had taught him---on the rare occasions when they'd been able to get out of the house for a while---until he'd developed some self-sufficiency.

Once Gohan had become somewhat comfortable surviving in the wilderness, he'd turned some of his attention to trying to draw out his power.  In actuality, the power had come out often during those first couple of desperate months on his own, but those instances had been instinctive, his ki brought to the surface by fear; he'd had no conscious control of his ki-flares and had little memory of them afterward.  Once he'd actually tried to bring out his ki, the most difficult part had been figuring out where it was; learning how to use it afterward had been rather easy, though he'd generally limited his ki use to mundane tasks such as starting fires.

"Ack!"  Something cold and slippery slapped into Gohan's face and slid into his lap, interrupting his thoughts.  Looking down, he saw a fat fish flopping weakly in his lap.  An eager screech drew his attention to Icarus, who expectantly looked from him to the fish.  "Um… thanks, Icarus, but I'm not hungry," he said, picking the creature up by its tail.

Trunks growled in frustration.  "I almost had it!  I coulda got it if you didn't start making noise!"

Gohan turned toward the toddler, who wore an extremely annoyed frown and had placed his tiny hands on his hips.  For a moment, the older boy was reminded of Bulma; she'd often given him---and everyone, actually---glares like that.  "Gomen nasai, Trunks.  Hold on a second."  He dangled the fish in front of Icarus; the little dragon screeched excitedly and sat back on his haunches.  "You want to have this, boy?  Then go fetch!"  He tossed the fish into the near distance, Icarus taking off after it with a speed Gohan would not have credited to him.   "All right, Trunks; you can get back to it now."

Huffily, the child turned his palms upward again and squeezed his eyes shut as he concentrated.  Several minutes passed in silence before Trunks said, his voice low with excitement, "Gohan-san, I found it!  I found it!"

Gohan allowed himself to smirk, though he refrained from praising Trunks; the toddler had made some progress, but congratulating him would have been premature.  "Now try to pull it into your hands, but don't force it too much, or it won't come."  He watched as his pupil's hands began to quiver with the effort; the child's whole body tensed.  "Trunks, relax a little; you're forcing it too much."

"This is too hard!" Trunks whined, folding his arms across his chest and pouting.

His patience wearing thin, Gohan scowled at him.  "Did I say that this was going to be easy?  No; I didn't.  If you really want to learn how to fly, you're going to have to work at it, but if you don't, that's fine.  Just don't ask me to teach you anything again, because if you quit this, I won't do it.  There's no way you'll ever learn anything if you always give up like this."

Trunks' lower lip trembled.  "But Gohan-san…"

"I mean it, Trunks.  If you're not willing to learn, then I'm not willing to teach."  Gohan kept his voice harsh, and looked away contemptuously, masking the fact that he was a little disturbed that he'd brought the toddler close to tears.  He'd meant what he said, though; he couldn't very well be an effective teacher if he had a disinclined student.

When Trunks said nothing in response, Gohan glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, and smiled slightly at the sight; the little boy was once more trying to summon his ki, drawing deep, calming breaths every time his body tensed.  It seemed that there was hope for the kid, after all.

Gohan opened his senses to the toddler's progress, and his smile broadened.  _He's  close.  Maybe I'm not such a bad sensei, after all._

An aura of pale yellow light alternately glowed and faded around Trunks' hands; the child took another steadying breath.  Another glow, but this time the light remained.  Slowly, the glow coalesced into a tiny ball floating just above the toddler's upturned palms.  Trunks opened his eyes, grinning widely.  "Gohan-san!  Gohan-san, look!  I did it!"

In the single second it took for Gohan to turn his full attention to the toddler, the ki ball winked out of existence; Trunks looked down at his hands as though they had betrayed him.  "I really did have it, Gohan-san," he said forlornly, seemingly ashamed.

"I know you did, Trunks," Gohan responded reassuringly.  There was no harm in praising the child, now; besides, Gohan wanted to dull the pain that his last words had caused.  "I could feel it.  That's why I didn't want you to give up; I knew you could do it if you really tried."  

Trunks stared at him silently, his blue eyes wide, as though he could not believe the gentleness in Gohan's voice.  While the older boy had intended his earlier reprimand to be harsh, he hadn't meant for it to be so harsh that it caused the child a certain amount of fear of him.  Gohan, while kind by nature, had been trained very severely, and therefore had no idea of any other way to teach; still, he was trying to temper himself a little, for Trunks' sake.  Severity was effective, though, so it couldn't be all bad; he just had to work out some way to balance the two conflicting styles.

Gohan chuckled to himself; he was starting to think as though this wouldn't be the only thing that he'd teach Trunks.  That was certainly getting ahead of himself.  Beyond flying, what could he teach the kid, anyway?  Fighting?  No, he wouldn't do that; he hadn't saved Trunks twice in the span of a few days for him to get killed in a battle against the androids.  Trunks was too young, anyway.  While Gohan hadn't really been much older than Trunks when he'd begun combat training, the thought of a four-year-old fighting was unsettling.  Being in battle at such a young age had been an incredible torment to Gohan, and he did not want to expose his pupil to the same thing.

"What was so funny?"

"Hm?"  Gohan pulled himself from his thoughts to see Trunks regarding him curiously.  He shook his head.  "Nothing.  Nevermind."

Trunks blinked uncertainly, but shrugged his shoulders after a few seconds, and grinned.  "So, now what?  Do I get to fly?"  

"One step at a time, Trunks," Gohan replied, shaking his head again.  "You've managed to pull out your ki once, but it took a lot of effort.  You've got to get so good at it that you don't have to try very hard to do it."

"So that means I gotta practice."  Trunks' expression was such a perfect blend of seriousness and determination that Gohan almost laughed.  "But what are you gonna do while I'm practicing, Gohan-san?  You're not just gonna sit and watch, are you?  I think that would be real boring."

"Well…" Gohan began, blinking in confusion.  What _was_ he going to do?  He couldn't just sit and stare at the kid all day…  Glancing at the river, he noticed Icarus on the opposite bank, splashing at the rushing waters in an apparent attempt to catch another fish.  Gohan looked back at Trunks for a moment, then at Icarus again, and came to a decision.  "Hey, Icarus!" he called; the little dragon paused in his fishing to look at him, head curiously cocked to one side. "C'mere, boy!"

Icarus casually flew across the river and landed next to Gohan, rubbing his face up against him and screeching softly.  Gohan acknowledged him with a few pats on the head before speaking.  "I want you to keep an eye on Trunks, all right?  Don't let him wander off, but don't bother him, either; he's training."

"Why does he have to watch me?" Trunks asked in a puzzled voice.  "Aren't you staying here?"

"I'm staying close, but I won't be able to see you.  And no," Gohan said, raising his hand to silence Trunks when the child opened his mouth,  "you can't come with me.  Stay here and practice."

When it became clear that Trunks was not going to protest, Gohan rose to his feet and lightly jumped into the air, flying a short distance over the canopy of the forest until he reached a rocky plain.  He landed in the midst of this plain, surveying the area with his eyes.  Here and there, piles of immense boulders dotted the landscape, perfect accompaniment to the tall stone spires that had been carved by the wind into seemingly impossible shapes.  Small fissures disrupted the smoothness of the ground, perhaps the result of several earthquakes in the distant past.  Yes, this place would do; if Trunks were going to train, Gohan figured that he may as well do so, too.

Raising his ki somewhat, he lifted himself to the sky, and began; he let loose against the empty air in a near-invisible flurry of punches and kicks, sparring with an imaginary opponent.  The wind rushed over his body in cool sheets whenever he spun in a roundhouse, or a backhand, and he smiled at the feel of it.  He'd always loved the motion involved in combat; it held a hidden beauty, a sleek elegance that made it appear deceptively unthreatening.  Yes, he'd always loved the motion… it was the actual act of fighting with which he'd always had a problem.  From the battle against the Saiyajins, Gohan had learned that fighting lead to one thing:  death.  Yamucha, Chaozu, Tenshinhan, Piccolo-san… they'd all been killed in that battle.  Dende, Vegeta, and Kurilin had lost their lives against Frieza.  And then there were the androids, who had murdered everyone…

Abruptly, Gohan launched himself downward on an angle, foot first, like a javelin; a spire of fragile rock crumbled easily under the force of the blow.  He shot forward, blasting through a pile of boulders without even blinking.  Another mound, and then another shattered against his fist.  Halting in midair and thrusting his palms outward, he fired a searing ki-bolt at the stone column that towered in front of him, cutting it clean in half.  Calmly, he watched the top section descend rapidly toward him.  When it was almost upon him, he flared his ki; the rock vapourized instantaneously on contact with his aura.

The earth slowly calmed itself after his onslaught, the ground ceasing to shake and the last bits of dust and debris settling upon it.  Wiping his brow with the back of a fist---though he hadn't broken that much of a sweat---Gohan slowly drifted to a landing.  So this was what he would be doing until Trunks was ready to try flying.  It felt odd, training again; he hadn't done it in years, and he had never done it alone.  He'd always had a sparring partner---sometimes his father, but usually Piccolo-san.  He realized suddenly that he missed that, but forced himself to be rational.  He didn't have either of them, anymore, and that was simply the reality of the situation.  No use in being emotional about it.

Raising his ki once more, Gohan leapt into the air to continue his training.

"Are you sure that you're ready for this?"

Trunks frowned in annoyance.  "I told you all ready:  _yes_!  See?"  He stretched his hands out in front of him, and pulled his ki from his stomach into his palms, creating a small ball of yellow light, and all without trying very hard; he'd practiced for almost two whole days, and was very proud of himself for having gotten so good at controlling his ki.  But Gohan-san, for some reason that Trunks could not understand, didn't seem to think that he'd be able to fly.

He and Gohan-san, along with Icarus, were standing by the river where Trunks had spent the past two days training.  For most of that time, Gohan-san had been off somewhere else, and Trunks didn't know where he went or what he did there; he'd asked him about it several times when they'd gone back to Chichi-obasan's house for food or bedtime, but Gohan-san had just said that it wasn't important.

Gohan-san sighed.  "All right, Trunks.  If you're really that sure…"

"Of course I---hey!"  Trunks wriggled uselessly as Gohan-san grabbed him by the back of his collar and jumped into the air.  "Gohan-san, what are you doing?" he shrieked, in a complete state of panic.  

The ground grew further and further away; the river looked like nothing more than a long blue line, and even the trees started to blend together into a dark green mass.  For a minute, Trunks wondered fearfully if Gohan-san was ever going to stop going up, but let out a heavy sigh of relief when he did do so a few seconds later.  Still, it looked as though they were _awfully_ high up…

"G… Gohan-san?" he asked timidly, his voice small.

"You _did_ insist that you were ready," Gohan-san responded.  "You'd better hope that's true."

And then he let go.

Trunks wasn't sure what was falling faster---his whole body, or just his stomach.  He had little time to spare wondering why Gohan-san had dropped him, as he was currently distracted by the sight of the ground rushing to meet him.  With a terrified whimper, he squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for impact…

The impact came, but it came against something softer than the ground, and something warmer, too.  Cautiously opening his eyes, Trunks saw two long, slightly backward-curved horns, and, in the corners of his vision, small wings flapping.  He panted with relief, and patted the dragon's back.  "Good Icarus," he breathed.  "Good dragon."

Icarus circled to a landing beside the river, and Trunks slid off his back, still breathing shallowly.  Why had Gohan-san done that?  Trunks couldn't fly yet, so he would have hit the ground and hurt himself for sure if Icarus hadn't caught him; he couldn't understand why Gohan-san would do something to hurt him.  He was pretty sure that Gohan-san liked him, but sometimes he said things that were mean---like when he was first trying to bring out his ki.  This was the first time that he'd ever _done_ anything mean, though.

Gohan-san drifted to the ground, and Trunks crouched behind Icarus for protection; it felt wrong to hide from him, but Gohan-san looked sort of upset, so hiding seemed like the best thing to do.  Nonetheless, he peeked around the dragon, just to make sure he knew what was happening.

"Trunks, come here," Gohan-san ordered.

Trunks shook his head.  "No.  You dropped me from way up there, and I coulda got hurt real bad.  You tried to hurt me!"

Gohan-san's eyes got wide, and his face turned white.  To Trunks' surprise, he started blinking, almost as though he were trying not to cry.  "Trunks…" he began, so softly that Trunks could barely hear him.  He swallowed before he went on.  "Come here, Trunks.  Please.  Just come over here."

Though he didn't quite know what it was, something in Gohan-san's voice made Trunks obey.  Maybe it was the fact that Gohan-san almost sounded like he was sorry, or maybe it was that he had said "please"---Trunks had never heard him say that before.  Whatever the reason, Trunks now stood in front of him, looking up at him in confusion; he didn't look upset anymore, but there still seemed to be something…

"Look," he started.  "I wasn't trying to hurt you; remember, I asked you a lot of times if you were really ready to learn how to fly, and you kept insisting that you were.  This is the quickest way I thought I could get you flying."

_So that's why he kept asking me… He knew I could get hurt, and he didn't like that,_ Trunks realized suddenly.  And in the same instant that realization struck him, so did a question.  "Did you get taught that way?"

For some reason, Gohan-san smiled a little with one side of his mouth.  "Hai, Trunks; this is exactly how Piccolo-san taught me."

Trunks lowered his head, considering this answer.  He remembered his mother telling him a little bit about all of her friends that the bad robots had gotten when he was still a baby.  Piccolo hadn't really been a friend of hers, but Trunks recalled that his mother said that he'd been best friends with Gohan-san, almost like a second papa.  If Gohan-san could be best friends with Piccolo even though he'd done something mean to him, then maybe Trunks could forgive Gohan-san for doing something mean to him, too.

He lifted his chin proudly.  "Let's try again, Gohan-san.  I promise that I'm ready _this_ time."

Gohan-san looked at him funnily for a minute before grabbing him by the back of his collar again and jumping into the sky, stopping at the same height as last time.  "You know that I'm not going to catch you.  And I won't let Icarus do it any more, either.  If you don't get yourself to float, you _will_ hit the ground."

Swallowing, Trunks looked at the forest below, trying to convince himself that it really wasn't as far down as it seemed---and not having very much success.  "It'll really hurt if I hit the ground, won't it?"

"Hai, Trunks, it will."

Nervously, he licked his dry lips; part of him had really been hoping for a more encouraging answer.  "I just have to make sure I don't hit it, then."

This time, he was a little more prepared for when Gohan-san dropped him---not that that made it any less scary.  He tried to concentrate and bring out his ki, but his fear was still too much of a distraction; the power wouldn't come.  

With a grunt of pain, Trunks slammed into the ground.  He gritted his teeth, feeling a dull ache throb throughout his whole body, and lay still, his fingers twitching every few seconds.  Something rough and wet moved across his face, and he assumed that it must be Icarus' tongue.  Slowly, he pushed himself onto his elbows, then onto his knees.  Still in pain, he looked up to see Gohan-san staring down at him, not seeming upset, but not seeming happy, either.

Unsteadily, Trunks climbed to his feet, trying to ignore all the aches in his body; hitting the ground hadn't really hurt quite as much as he thought it would have---or so he was telling himself at the moment.  He brushed dirt and grass off his clothes,  watching as Icarus leapt into the air and flew around in circles.

Trunks, standing rigidly with his fists at his sides, frowned in irritation as he watched the dragon flying as though he were king of the whole forest.  "Show-off!" he shouted indignantly at the creature.  Behind him, he heard Gohan-san laugh; turning, he fixed a furious glare upon the older boy.  "It's _not_ funny!  I wanna try it again!"

It took a minute for Gohan-san to stop laughing, but when he did, he lifted Trunks into the sky once more.  Unlike the last two times, Trunks was not afraid---he was too angry.  He'd show Icarus that he wasn't the _only_ one who could fly besides Gohan-san.

When he felt Gohan-san release him, he didn't worry about the sensation of falling, or about how much it would hurt to hit the ground again.  Instead, he concentrated on his ki, pulling it out and trying to put it between himself and the ground---

He stopped suddenly, just barely above the forest floor; blades of grass tickled his face.  Trunks was so astonished that he forgot to keep controlling his ki, and lightly flopped to the earth.  Too amazed to move, he lay still for a minute.

_I did it!_ he thought, his mental voice full of awe.  _It was just for a second, but I did it!  I was really floating!_

Trunks clambered to his feet in pure excitement.  So _that_ was how to fly---he just had to put his ki underneath him.  Putting his theory into practice, he pushed all his ki down into his feet, and against the ground; he rose a few inches into the air.  Trunks giggled in delight, and pushed harder, floating upward until he was eye to eye with Gohan-san.

"Gohan-san, look!  I can fly!" he crowed.  He lost control of his ki for a second, but quickly recovered, all without the grin ever fading from his face.

Gohan-san folded his arms across his chest as though he were annoyed, but Trunks could see him smiling.  "Well, of course you can.  I told you that this method was fast, didn't I?"

Trunks nodded enthusiastically.  "What next?"

"Next, we work on the harder moves."

  


Chichi-obasan hugged Gohan-san tightly, but Trunks thought that Gohan-san looked sort of uncomfortable with it, and saw that he didn't hug her back.  Trunks really wasn't sure why that was; after all, he was going to hug _his_ mother when he got home.  There wasn't anything wrong with it.  Still, Gohan-san was a little strange sometimes, and Trunks decided that this must be one of those times.  

"Now you two be careful out there," Chichi-obasan said, pulling away from Gohan-san and looking kind of worried.  "I tried calling Bulma every day for the last four days and haven't been able to get through.  The city is probably still in bad shape; it could be dangerous."

"Kaasan, we'll be fine," Gohan-san said soothingly.  "Don't worry."  He turned to look down at Trunks.  "Let's go, Trunks"

Trunks followed Gohan-san into the air above the field in front of the house, and waved down at Chichi-obasan, Ox King, and Icarus.  "Bye!"

Ox King waved his huge hands.  "Goodbye, Trunks!  Goodbye, Gohan!  Be sure to tell Bulma we said 'hi'!"

Trunks flew along just behind Gohan-san, revelling in the feeling of being in the sky, and savouring the sensation of the cool wind rushing through his hair; he'd only been flying for a couple of days, but he all ready thought it was the single most exciting thing that he had ever done in his life.  But ,as thrilling as flight was, it wasn't the only reason that he was so happy.

"Here I come, Mama," he whispered, a broad grin on his face.  "I'm coming home."


	13. Unwelcome Visitors; A Change of Plans

Disclaimer:  I do not own DBZ, or the Mirai timeline, or any timeline, for that matter.  I am but a humble fan paying homage to a wonderful anime. The Burden of Hope 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:  Unwelcome Visitors; A Change of Plans 

He glanced back at Trunks, and fought off a smile; the kid's grin was becoming infectious, and hadn't faded once on the entire trip so far.  The journey was taking far longer than it should have, as Trunks could not fly as quickly as Gohan could and needed frequent rests in order to regain his strength.  Gohan didn't mind the delay, though; Trunks was good company, and there had been no friction between them since the day Trunks had learned to float on his own.

In the distance, Gohan could see the skyline of the West Capitol slowly approaching; it couldn't be much more than perhaps three hours away.  Three hours until he got Trunks home.

"Look, Trunks," he said, pointing a finger toward the city.  "There it is.  Your home."

The toddler pulled up beside him, lavender hair blown back away from his forehead, and blue eyes squinting against the wind.  "Right there?  Is that really it?"

"Hai."

Impossibly, the child's smile widened.  "Wow.  How long until we get there?"

"Maybe a couple hours," Gohan responded.  He eyed Trunks carefully; though he was still grinning, the child was wobbling a little in his flight, a sure sign that he was growing tired.  They'd been flying for a little while, now, and it had probably taken its toll.  "I think you need a rest, Trunks.  We've been flying a long time, and you're getting tired."

"No!" the child protested, shaking his head vehemently.  "I'm not tired!  I can make it all the rest of the way home without resting!"

Gohan sighed gustily.  "Fine, Trunks; have it your way.  Just remember what happens when you really do get tired and refuse to take a rest."

"I know!" the child shot back in irritation.

The previous day, Trunks had declined to take a breather, and had ended up losing control of his ki and plummeting toward the ground.  Gohan hadn't bothered to catch him---the kid needed to learn to be aware of his own limits---instead letting him slam into the earth.  Naturally, since they'd been so high in the air, Gohan had examined Trunks, who lay prone, to ensure that he hadn't suffered any serious injury, and had found nothing more that a few bruises.  Credit to the Saiyajin blood for making the kid able to withstand such a fall with only minor wounds.  Besides, Gohan would hate to present him to Bulma looking as though he needed serious medical attention.

At the thought of Bulma, Gohan felt a smile stretch his lips.  How would she react to his showing up out of nowhere?  Once he'd gotten over his self-consciousness at home, he'd found himself mildly amused at his mother's reaction to his sudden appearance; she had a penchant for fainting when she felt extreme shock.  Bulma wasn't like that, though; Gohan wasn't sure if he'd ever seen her faint.  Whatever the reaction turned out to be, though, he was sure that it would at least be entertaining.

The skyline gradually drew closer, close enough so that it now towered over the horizon just as it should.  Gohan spared an occasional glance at Trunks to see how he was holding up; surprisingly, the toddler was holding himself steady, and showed no signs of faltering.  Perhaps the knowledge that, in mere hours, he would be reunited with his mother had lent him an extra measure of endurance.

Near the outskirts of the city, Gohan angled his flight downward, and motioned for Trunks to do the same.  While Trunks did follow suit, he did not land, as Gohan did; instead, the child opted to float at eye level, frowning.

"Why are we stopping?" he demanded.  "We're almost there!"

"We're not stopping," Gohan replied matter-of-factly.  "We're just going the rest of the way on foot.  People could see us if we keep flying, and from far away, they might think it's the androids; I'd rather not risk starting a panic.  Now quit floating; you'll scare someone."

Trunks quietly complied, slowly drifting to the ground.  His mood had evidently shifted into something less cheerful than it had been a few moments ago, for though his smile had returned, it was not a broad as it used to be.  Gohan chose to ignore that; the kid was happy enough, and would be more so in a short while.

Instead of concentrating on Trunks, Gohan found himself morbidly fascinated with his surroundings.  Many buildings stood at only half their actual height, their upper stories lying across the streets in massive heaps.  Window frames held no more than a few jagged shards of glass, and severed wires lay across the ground like a tangled mass of dead snakes.  A musty odour permeated the air, and Gohan was not pleased that he knew well what this odour signified:  death.  This thought was confirmed by the sight of a bloodstained body sprawled half inside a doorway.  Glancing at Trunks, he found the toddler's face to be expressionless, as though he were completely unaffected by the terrible sights around him.  Gohan wouldn't have been surprised if that were the truth; it wasn't that the child had no feeling---and in fact had demonstrated that quite clearly the last time they'd been in a city---it was simply something that he was used to seeing.

As they ventured further, the scenery improved.  More buildings stood erect, and all of the people that were around were alive.  Clean-up crews operated noisy bulldozers and huge trucks, hauling away any remaining debris.  Gohan supposed that the rebuilding process had begun closer to the centre of the city, as that was where many of the most important structures were likely to be situated.  It was pleasing to know that he and Trunks would be in an all but fully-restored area of the city when they arrived at Bulma's house; in the West Capitol, there were few buildings that could match the import of the Capsule Corporation.

Having been accustomed to simply flying to the Capsule Corporation compound on visits to Bulma, Gohan wasn't entirely certain whether or not he was truly leading Trunks in the right direction.  It wasn't as though he would admit that, however; he didn't want to look clueless.  

"I don't know why you wanted to come back here.  Look at this place!  It's still a mess!"

"That's the whole point.  Who would expect it?  It's more fun when they're shocked out of their wits.  You need to loosen up."

"Would you shut up?  You've been bothering me about that for two weeks!  I know how to have fun; _you're_ just too childish!"

Gohan's ears pricked at the sound of the two argumentative voices, one female, and the other male.  He wasn't sure why he paid so much attention to the inane conversation, which was no louder than any of the others on the crowded streets; for all the world, it just sounded like a brother and sister bickering.

_Brother and sister bickering?  _he thought suddenly, halting in disbelief and grabbing Trunks' shoulder to ensure that the child didn't go on without him.  Wearily, he closed his eyes.  _Oh, Kami, no!  Please.  **They** can't be here.  They just can't._       

"Fine.  If you're that bored, then let's start."

Gohan yanked Trunks closer to him.  "Get down," he commanded firmly.

"Gohan-san," the toddler protested, "what…"

A building across the street exploded into a monstrous plume of smoke; flaming chunks of concrete launched themselves in all directions.  Reacting instinctively, Gohan shielded Trunks with his body; he winced as a stray chunk glanced off his back.  Chaos erupted around them; people screamed in terror as well as pain, and frantically rushed to clear the area.  

A few smaller explosions sent debris flying, and energized the legs of the fleeing citizens.  In the space of a few moments, Gohan and Trunks were the only two people who remained in the area.  Gohan lifted his head and turned to visually confirm what was all ready known; across the street stood two slender, denim-clad figures, one a dark-haired male, the other a fair-haired female.

"Gohan-san…" Trunks whispered shakily, and clutched the older boy's leg, trembling.

Gohan said nothing, only tightened his lips.  He should have known that this would happen; nothing was ever easy.  And things got even more difficult as Android Seventeen and Eighteen's gazes simultaneously fixed upon him, and he tensed, almost, but not quite, into a combat crouch.

All explosions ceased, allowing dust and debris to settle onto the ground.  And a harsh wind howled eerily, toying with the hair of the street's only occupants:  twin androids, and two demi-saiyan boys.

  


Blinking wearily, Bulma lifted her head---and much to her annoyance was lifting it from the kitchen table; she had fallen asleep at lunch again.  At least this time, she didn't wake up with bits of food sticking to her cheek.  Still, she had told her parents not to let her sleep at the table, no matter how tired she may be, and they had clearly not listened to her.  Why did she have to be the only responsible person in the family?    

She arched her back, and laced her fingers together as she stretched her arms over her head, yawning.  Researching the concept for a time machine was tiring work, and she was still suffering from extreme fatigue; of course, it didn't help that she continued to work in shifts that sometimes exceeded twelve hours in length.  She couldn't help it; she wanted to complete the project as soon as possible.

Sliding out of her chair, Bulma rubbed her eyes with the back of a fist, and yawned again.  This sleepiness was beginning to get to her all ready, but she had work to do.  Maybe she should make some coffee…

A vague chattering reached her ears, and she came to the conclusion that her parents---the absent-minded people that they were---had left the radio on when they'd left the kitchen.  She loosely remembered that her father had gotten radio communication restored while she'd been busy with her research.  Bulma was about to turn off the device, when the announcer said something that froze her, and instantly eliminated her need for coffee.

"… the business district!  I repeat, the androids have launched an assault on the business district!  It seems so far that most citizens have managed to escape ground zero, but we can't be certain at this point.  We urge all of you to take shelter wherever possible, or flee the city.  Most exits out of town have been reopened…"

Bulma rushed to the window, anxiously pressing her hands up against the glass; the business district wasn't far from her house, so she ought to be able to see what was happening… there.  A huge cloud of smoke billowed thickly into the otherwise clear sky and unnatural light flickered in the distance.

"I don't believe this," she muttered under her breath.  "They attacked here just two weeks ago; what are they doing back so soon?  They never do this…"  Bulma blinked as the unnatural lights suddenly stopped flickering; this was even odder than the fact that the androids had returned so soon after their last attack.  For that reason, fear began to flutter more powerfully in her stomach.  "What on Earth is going on out there?"

Silence.  It was perhaps an abnormal thing when four people were in close proximity, yet here, it reigned.  The figure of a dark-haired boy in an orange gi, and with a lavender-haired toddler clinging to his leg, stared into the cold eyes of two teenage figures, not saying a word.  The teenage figures stood in a relaxed stance, either not realizing or not caring that the boy had nearly adopted a combat crouch.

Gohan's lips tightened further as Android Seventeen's curved upward in a mischievous smile; Trunks dug his fingers painfully into his leg, but he allowed this.  In truth, he didn't want to let go of the toddler any more than the toddler wanted to let go of him; he wasn't going to lose him, even if he had to die to make sure of that.

"Well, well, well," began Android Seventeen.  "Isn't it funny how we keep meeting like this?"

Gohan paid only a minimum of attention to the words; his mind was racing, trying to figure out a way to get Trunks away safely.  Things would have been easier if he had only one android to deal with; that way, Trunks could slip away while he distracted the enemy in combat.  Gohan didn't think that the odds of him fighting both of the androids at once were very high; one of them was bound to go after Trunks, and if that happened, he wouldn't be able to protect the child.  If he let something happen to Trunks, he would never forgive himself for it.

"You're awfully quiet over there," said Seventeen.  "C'mon.  Speak.  Don't you have anything to say?"

Android Eighteen took a few steps forward, hands on her hips, and a scowl on her face.  "Oh, who cares about talk, anyway?  It's cheap.  I'd much rather be in action."

"You never let me have any fun," Seventeen pouted like a scolded child.  He sighed elaborately.  "All right, let's get him."

Gohan tensed into a full combat crouch, hoping that Trunks didn't notice the tremors in his body; the toddler was frightened enough by the androids, so he didn't need to know that Gohan was afraid, too.

Extending her arm out to the side, Eighteen indicated to her brother to stay back.  "Back off, Seventeen.  This brat made a fool out of me the last time we fought.  He's mine.  Why don't you play with his little friend?"

A tiny whimper escaped Trunks' lips, and the child clutched Gohan's leg more tightly, breathing shallowly.

"Great.  So you're sticking me with the shrimp!" Seventeen growled.  "What kind of fun is _he_ supposed to be?"

"You'll think of something; you always did find a way to enjoy the stupidest things."

Seventeen crossed his arms sulkily.  "Fine.  Just try to save a little bit of Gohan for me, would you?  I want to be able to have _some_ fun."

Gohan suppressed a shudder at Eighteen's wicked smile.  "Gomen, can't guarantee that.  You know that I'm very thorough in my work."

Gasping, Gohan kicked Trunks off his leg as a pseudo-ki blast raced toward him.  The extra move cost him though; he didn't have time enough to dodge, or to erect a ki-shield, and the wave of golden light enveloped him.  Surprisingly, it didn't hurt---much---and merely propelled him backward, into the concrete wall of the building behind him.  He slid to the ground, but almost instantaneously regained his feet, prepared to meet the next attack, and knowing that the first one had been merely Eighteen's way of playing with him.

"Gohan-san!"

Gohan was startled to see Trunks rushing toward him, eyes wide with concern.  Didn't the kid realize that it was dangerous?  "Trunks, get out of here!"

The toddler's lip trembled.  "But what about you?"

Gohan barely reacted in time to block a kick that Android Eighteen aimed at his head; grunting with the effort, he tried to push her away, but had little success.  Gritting his teeth, he gripped the android's leg and swung her, over Trunks' head, into and though the wall of the building before letting go.

"I'll catch up!" he growled at the terrified child.  "Now, _GO_!"

He sidestepped another pseudo-ki blast, and leapt into the air, relieved to see Android Eighteen follow suit; he'd been half-afraid that she'd lash out at Trunks when he himself wasn't a convenient target.  Gohan ignited his ki, blazing into Super Saiyajin as she soared upward to meet him.  He was about to ready a ki blast, when he noticed that Trunks hadn't moved; if Eighteen dodged, there was a disturbingly high probability that he would hit Trunks instead.

_Blast it, why is he still here?  _Gohan thought furiously.  _I told him to get away!_

He doubled over in pain as Android Eighteen's fist slammed into his chest, knocking the breath from him; the blow had caught him completely by surprise.  That pain, however, was quickly replaced by a multitude of others as he was struck several more times in rapid succession, all to his stomach, except for the final strike---that one smashed into his cheek and sent him plummeting to the ground.

Dazedly, Gohan pried himself out of the depression that his impact had created in the street, coughing in the settling cloud of dust.  He glared up at Eighteen, though in truth, he was angry at himself for getting distracted---he should have been prepared for that attack; it wasn't as though he hadn't seen it coming.  At this rate, Trunks' mere presence was going to get him killed.

A startled gasp from Trunks and an amused chuckle from Android Seventeen drew Gohan's attention; the toddler ducked out of the way of a playfully fired beam of pseudo-ki, and then closed his eyes fearfully as Seventeen fired another at him, purposefully just missing his head.  Trunks opened his eyes in relieved shock, which turned into panic as yet another beam blew a tiny hole into the sidewalk just in front of his feet; the toddler stumbled backward, falling onto the pile of rubble that marked where a wall used to be.

_He's going to be killed!_  Gohan clambered to his feet, desperate to stop Android Seventeen before he finished Trunks.  He only needed a couple of seconds---

A foot caught him between his shoulder blades, forcing him onto the rough pavement and pinning him neatly.  Gohan struggled to free himself, but could do little but move his arms and legs uselessly.  Despite this, he refused to give up; Trunks needed him---if the child were still alive, that was.

"Do you have any idea how pathetic that was?"  Gohan could detect the sneer in Android Eighteen's voice even though he was unable to see it on her face.  "I _know_ that you can do better than that!  What's your problem today, kid?"

He heard Android Seventeen chuckle.  "Not as much fun as you thought he'd be, huh, Eighteen?  Maybe he's just worried about his little friend."  Footsteps crushed loose gravel; Gohan managed to lift his head enough to see the tips of Seventeen's blue sneakers just in front of his face.  "I haven't killed him yet, you know.  I think I can get a little more out of him before I do."

Had Gohan been able to breathe comfortably, he would have sighed in relief; Trunks was all right---for the moment, at least.  Now, all he had to do was figure out how to get out of his current predicament; if only he could somehow gain some leverage…

"Gohan-san!" he heard Trunks gasp.

"Trunks…" he gritted as Android Eighteen pushed him harder into the pavement.  "I told you… to _get out of here_!  Go!"

"B… but…"

"Oh, so you want him gone, do you?"  Seventeen asked innocently.  "Well, why didn't you just say so?  I'll be happy to get rid of him."

Gohan's eyes caught a flickering light above him, and he realized that Seventeen was about to fire at Trunks again, this time aiming to kill.  **_No!_**

Panicked, Gohan shot his arm out and gripped Seventeen's ankle.  With a sharp tug, he pulled the android off his feet, causing him to misfire; the blast of pseudo-ki instead blew apart a nearby building.

Seventeen's foot kicked out of his grasp.  "Why you dirty little…"  

"Hey!" Eighteen scolded.  "Don't even think about it.  I told you---he's _mine_!"

The pressure on Gohan's back lifted, but he just barely managed to sag in relief before a brutal impact to his side sent him flying.  He cried out as his head smacked against concrete, and was suddenly engaged in a brief battle to remain conscious; stubbornly, he managed to stay awake, but the effort caused him to slip out of Super Saiyajin.  

Through hazy eyes, he saw Trunks leap into the air, Seventeen playfully chasing him.  It wasn't until his vision cleared, that Gohan realized his own situation; Android Eighteen was advancing on him with elaborate slowness, grey eyes deadly, as always.  He pulled himself to his feet, adopting a fighting crouch.  Chancing another look, he saw Trunks and Seventeen fly off, far out of his reach.  Gohan shifted his attention back to Android Eighteen, and prayed that the child would somehow be all right.

He couldn't help him now.


	14. Separated Demi-Saiyans; A Deadly Game

Disclaimer:  My mind is in no state to even attempt to come up with a semi-witty disclaimer.  You all know that I don't own DBZ. The Burden of Hope 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:  Separated Demi-Saiyans; A Deadly Game

_Don't look back, _Trunks thought fearfully.  _Just don't look back._

Despite the order that he'd given himself, he looked over his shoulder and saw the bad boy-robot flying right behind him; more terrified than before, he whipped his attention forward again.  What was he supposed to do all by himself?  He wasn't a big boy like Gohan-san, so how was he supposed to do anything?

Trunks swallowed hard, and had to remind himself to breathe; he wobbled a bit in the air.  He wished that he'd listened to Gohan-san earlier and taken a rest, because he was feeling really tired now, and didn't think he'd be able to fly for too much longer.  And if he couldn't fly much longer…  No.  He wasn't going to think about that---he was scared more than enough as it was.  

"You look a little unsteady up here, brat," called the bad boy-robot.  "Need some help?"

The words chilled Trunks, and he exerted his ki more that he'd previously been able to manage, increasing the speed of his flight.  He needed to get away.  He needed to get away fast.  And he needed to hide, too, and this time, he would stay in his hiding place until it was all over.  His eyes scanned the ground below him, searching for some tiny place where he could curl up and not be seen; down on the streets, mobs of people ran this way and that, some screaming, and others pointing at the sky.  There didn't seem to be anywhere to go---not that he could see from this height, anyway.  He needed to go lower.

Before he could angle his flight downward, he bumped into something hard; the sudden stop distracted Trunks so much that he forgot to control his ki for a few seconds and fell a bit before catching himself.  Shaking his head, he wondered what he had flown into; he lifted his gaze… and immediately wished that he had not.

"Whoops.  Looks like you ought to watch where you're going."  The bad boy-robot floated in front of him, arms crossed over his chest, and smiling in amusement.  "Little boys shouldn't be in the sky, anyway."

Trunks simply floated in place for a long moment, trying to figure out what he should do.  His breath didn't come at a regular pace, and when it did come, it was extremely shallow; sweat poured from his forehead, running into his wide eyes and plastering a few strands of hair to his face.  

_Just get away and hide!  _his mind screamed.  _Hide and then Gohan-san will come and find you when it's all over and you can go home and see Mama._

He backed off a little, and then dove, almost letting himself fall.  People scattered as Trunks landed, his feet barely touching the ground before he broke into a run.  He didn't get very far before he heard an explosion behind him and its shockwave launched him into the air.  Yelping in surprise, he reached for his ki to keep from hitting the ground, but didn't have the time; he tumbled along the street until his back hit something hard and he drew in a sharp breath.

A sea of legs rushed past him in a blur as he began to push himself to his feet.  Just before he lifted his head, he felt a hand grab his wrist and pull him up, his legs dangling in the air; he thought briefly that it was awfully nice of someone to help him before he looked up and, for the second time in a very short while, wished that he had not.  

"Well, there you are," the bad boy-robot chuckled softly.  "Where did you think you were going?  It's not very considerate of you to try and run off like that; how am I supposed to have any fun without a playmate?"

Trunks swallowed hard and uselessly tried to wriggle free; the grip was far too tight.  Panic tool control of his lungs, causing them to expel air in shallow gasps.  He had to get away somehow.

"Now, what kind of game should we play?"

  


The sky flashed gold for an instant, so brightly that even those who had their eyes on the ground were nearly blinded; a shockwave severed the top floors of skyscrapers from their companions.  High above the city, a battle raged, invisible to the eyes of any would-be spectators.  Of course, there were no spectators---when the androids attacked, the wisest moves were to run and hide, not stand and gawk; in fact, had any person known that someone was fighting one of the androids, that person would have questioned what was wrong with the fighter's brain.

Gohan panted heavily, recovering from the last exchange; he blinked irritably as a thin stream of blood trickled from his forehead and into his eye.  Sweat plastered a lock of golden hair to his forehead.  Android Eighteen floated a few feet from him, a cold smirk touching her lips, daring him to attack her again.

Wiping the blood out of his eye, he gritted his teeth.  As he had expected, he was getting nowhere fast in this battle, and was in great need of finding a way to get out of it alive.  Such a thing was only going to lead him to another fight, though; the second he managed to get out of this situation---assuming, of course, that he _would_---he was going to go after Android Seventeen.  And if that battery-powered demon had done anything to Trunks, Gohan didn't care _how_ powerful he was; he'd _find_ a way to kill him.

He spun out of the way of Eighteen's fist as she charged at him, and whirled about to deliver a kick to her back, following up with a ki blast that propelled her toward the ground.  As she was in the process of catching herself, he let loose another, but she righted herself in time to see it and tilted her head to one side; the blast whizzed past harmlessly, burning off a few strands of her blonde hair.

Eighteen gasped angrily, putting a hand to her hair where it had been burned off.  "You little brat!  How _dare_ you do that to my hair!" she growled, her grey eyes narrowing.

Gohan barely managed to escape the blast of pseudo-ki that blazed up at him like a shooting star in reverse; only a blurring dodge allowed him to keep his head on his shoulders.  As it was, he still felt its intense heat on his cheek.

The evasion of that attack gave him little respite, however; as had happened several times before, he was caught off guard by a vicious impact to his stomach.  He cried out as bone crunched sickeningly and he felt something give way inside of him; blood rose in his throat, threatening to choke him.  As he coughed it out, he felt a hand grip the front of his gi and jerk him forward.  Slowly, he half-opened his eyes, finding his face mere inches away from that of Android Eighteen.

"I'm _really_ going to make you pay for that, kid," she threatened, her voice a lethal whisper.  "You just keep making things worse for yourself.  You ought to be glad that your little friend isn't here to see this.  Just imagine what the look on his face would be."  Her lips curved upward in a cruel smile.  "Oh, well.  The brat's probably dead by now, anyway."

In a haze of pain, Gohan had heard her first words only marginally, but the final ones had been all too clear.  _Probably dead by now…_  At the thought of that, his ki surged hotly in his blood, bringing it to a boil.  He was in no state of mind to concentrate on anything but the emotions that those words sent roiling through his heart:  fear, helplessness…

Fury.

He scarcely realized what he was doing as he brought the heels of his hands together, gathering as much ki as possible; lightning crackled around Gohan's palms before he fired.

By all rights, the blast should not have been able to be as large as it was, for it was taller than he; it lit the sky like a dozen suns, and hit the unprepared Android Eighteen point-blank.  Her cry oddly complemented the flashing white expanse that was the sky, and her hold on Gohan broke as she was driven backward.  

Gohan didn't wait for the sky to stop flickering before he attacked again, knowing, through enraged instinct rather than through deprived sight, exactly where his opponent was.  He snarled viciously, though each blow connected; for some strange reason, this only made him angrier.  Pulling back a little, he shot another searing ki blast that launched the android to the ground.  A cloud of dust rose from the impact.

The massive aura that had surrounded him like the flame of an exploding star weakened nearly to the point of non-existence.  Panting in exhaustion, Gohan watched the ground intently as the dust cloud began to clear.

Android Seventeen chuckled as the lavender-haired brat vainly tried to pull his tiny wrist out of his grasp; the creature was in absolute panic, whimpers escaping his throat, short legs kicking in the air.  It was even more amusing to watch than Seventeen had thought it would be; maybe he should start playing around with kids more often, if they could be this much fun.

"Not going to happen, kid," Seventeen mocked smoothly.  The brat stopped struggling, turning terrified blue eyes on him.  "Oh, don't stop on my account; you're spoiling my fun.  Come on, keep trying."

The brat didn't move, only breathed shallowly and blinked.  Probably waiting and hoping that Gohan would come along and save his little hide.  Children were such foolish creatures.

Seventeen grinned wickedly.  "He's not coming this time, brat.  My sister has some business with him, and I don't think she's happy.  Bad things happen to people when she's not happy---death, usually."  

Just as he'd expected, the words caused the brat to choke in horror, eyes filling with tears.  Seventeen chuckled again, quite enjoying the reaction that he had gotten.  Then, after a long moment, something happened that he had _not_ expected, even as an outside possibility.

The brat hit him.

A ridiculously tiny fist, attached to an arm that was barely long enough to reach him, had struck him between the eyes; it didn't hurt, obviously---in fact, he hadn't even felt it---but the action surprised Seventeen so much that he loosened his grip on the brat, who then managed to wrench himself free.  Seventeen watched in shock as he dropped to the ground, cradling his possibly broken hand, and then stood and launched himself into the air, heading off in a random direction.

_Well, **that** was interesting,_ Seventeen thought, for the moment only following the brat with his eyes.  _Who'd have thought the little runt had it in him?  Must've gotten it from hanging out with Gohan._

Smoothly, he lifted himself into the sky, following the path that the brat had taken; just for fun, he rained down a few pseudo-ki blasts on the fleeing citizens, and blew up a few buildings for target practice.  No sense in letting the amusement of the chase get stale by not doing anything else.  The brat flew a short distance in front of him, occasionally glancing backward, obviously checking to see if he were still safe.

Smiling, Seventeen rose higher, and sped forward until he was soaring directly above him; the brat visibly sagged in relief when he next checked his rear and found no one there, and even slowed his flight.  Once again, Seventeen marvelled at the foolishness of children; they were even worse than the rest of humankind.

He angled himself slightly, descending until he was level with the brat.  "Hello, again," he greeted cheerfully, and was rewarded with a terrified gasp.  "Nice up here, isn't it?  You've got a perfect view of the whole city."

The brat shot off in a new direction in a vain hope to escape; effortlessly, Seventeen followed every climb, every dive, every right-angled turn, keeping perfectly in time.  In a way, the pursuit reminded him of the aerial equivalent of cat and mouse, whatever that might be.  He frowned in irritation.  These human idioms were simply too bizarre to figure out; he didn't know why he bothered thinking about them.  Must be a defect in his programming.  

The chase continued in this manner for several minutes, the brat's flight becoming increasingly unsteady; thus Seventeen was not very surprised to find that he eventually fell, barely catching himself in time to avoid hitting the ground.

Seventeen sighed, and lowered himself to the street; the brat's amusement factor was waning, and it was probably best to end this particular little game.  Still, it had been fun.  Most people weren't half as delightful to torment as this kid had been.

"Well, brat, it looks like this is it," he drawled as the brat's frightened gaze met his.  He raised his hand level with the brat's face---the stupid kid was still floating for some reason---gathering a small amount of pseudo-ki into his palm.  No need to overdo things.  Letting it linger on his hand, he watched sweat pour down the brat's face, and the wide blue eyes fill with the terror of death.

Before he could fire, the brat turned and shot away.  Seventeen scowled at this; did he actually think that such an idiotic action would do any good?  Honestly, he and Eighteen were doing the world a favour, destroying such inferior creatures.  Something with so little common sense deserved to die.

Not bothering to waste any more time, Seventeen let fly the pseudo-ki blast; to his great annoyance, he noticed that the brat, probably without realizing it, had dropped lightly to the ground just as the blast had been launched.  As a result, a small building exploded instead of the intended target.  Drawing his brows together, he watched as the lucky little runt rounded a corner; he fired again, taking aim at the structure behind which the brat had disappeared.

A satisfying plume of smoke and dust exploded into the air; as it slowly dissipated, it revealed the pile of rubble to which the once-great---by silly human standards, anyway---building which had stood in its place.  Only a few feet of the structure, from the ground up, had survived.

Seventeen lifted himself into the sky, checking the surrounding area for any sign that the runt had gotten lucky again.  Here and there, a few ragged humans dashed along the streets; these, he idly picked off with thin lances of pseudo-ki, but none of these people resembled the brat.  There was no indication that he had managed to escape; it was evident that he'd been buried under the debris.

"Finally," Seventeen breathed irritably.  "That little twerp was really getting on my nerves."  He turned to face the direction in which he'd last seen his sister.  "Speaking of which, I wonder if Eighteen's finished playing with Gohan yet.  She'd better not be; I need a taste of some _real_ action."

Without a backward glance, he leisurely flew off in search of his sister so that she couldn't hog all of the true entertainment.

His mind slowly returning to coherency, Gohan tried to ignore the stabbing pain in his chest as he stared down at the clearing dust cloud of Android Eighteen's impact.  Now that his fury had dissipated, he was conscious of the weak feeling that swept through his body; it was the same feeling that he always got after one of his trademark ki-flares.  He'd used up a great deal of power, and he didn't have very much left; even staying aloft was difficult, where normally flying was effortless for him.

It didn't help that he could see through the cloud now, well enough to determine that Android Eighteen was climbing to her feet.  By the time the area was clear, she had risen to her full height, more dirtied than wounded, and stared back at him with a hint of amused disappointment.

_I barely even scratched her!_ Gohan thought angrily.  _I used up all that power, and it didn't do any good!_

Now that it was too late, he realized his mistake.  He'd been so consumed with rage that he'd let loose with all of his strength, uncaring of the consequences to himself.  Eighteen, though, was unharmed, and he'd used up so much ki that he may not be able to fight any longer.  At the rate he was going, he wouldn't need her to finish him off; he was managing that task quite well on his own.  In short, he'd been a complete fool… and he had a sinking feeling that he was going to pay for it.

"Was that the best you could do?" Android Eighteen called.  She closed her eyes and shook her head.  "Pitiful.  You should be honoured that I'm bothering with a weakling like you.  It's not like I couldn't find something more interesting to do with my time, but I owed you this, and I don't like to be indebted to anyone."

Gohan saw the blast long before it reached him, and forced his body to move, but exhaustion had battered his normally quick reflexes into hazy submission; while he managed to avoid being hit full-on, the pseudo-ki wave tore into his side.  He tried, but was unable to suppress a scream at the burning agony.  After a brief struggle to stay aloft, he felt his ki slip from his grasp, and he dropped to the ground.

He was barely conscious of the sensation of his body hitting concrete; all of his concentration was locked on the combination of the flaming pain in his side, and the stabbing pains in his chest.  Dimly, he felt his power leave him, and this seemed to magnify the severity of the wounds he'd suffered; without the defensive boost of the Super Saiyajin body, he was subjected to the true effects of his injuries.

With great effort, Gohan pried his eyes half-open as he heard soft footsteps approaching him.  The steps halted beside his head, and Android Eighteen's cold face swam in his vision.  Instinct screamed at him to move, to get up and defend himself before she had a chance to attack him again, but this instinct was too weak to motivate his battered form, and he merely lay still, waiting.

"This is just sad," her voice floated lazily into his ears.  "You could've tried a little harder, you know.  I was actually having fun for a while, and you've gone and ruined it."  She sighed heavily.  "Oh, well.  If this is all I get, I guess I'll have to take it.  Tell you what, kid---I'll make sure you go out with a bang."

At first, Gohan thought that he was slowly drifting downward---though he knew that he was lying on the ground and therefore couldn't possibly be doing any such thing---but then realized that Android Eighteen was rising into the sky.  It took him a moment to determine exactly what was about to happen, but when he did, he found that it didn't really bother him very much.

_It won't be so bad,_ he thought drowsily as the air above him seemed to flicker gold.  _It probably won't even hurt that much.  And I'll get to see them again.  Tousan… Piccolo-san… Trunks…_

Trunks.

An icy sensation shot through Gohan's veins, bringing him to full awareness.  He couldn't just lie here and let this happen.  Not when that possibility, slim as it may be, still existed.

_Trunks!  He could still be alive!_

And the sky began to rain fire.

  



	15. Centre of the Storm; Home is on the Hori...

Disclaimer:  Do people even read these things anymore after so many chapters?  It's got to be painfully obvious by now that I don't own DBZ. The Burden of Hope 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:  Centre of the Storm; Home is on the Horizon 

Gohan desperately threw up a ki-shield---albeit a weak one---as beams of pseudo-ki rocketed to the ground like an earthbound meteor storm.  The ground beneath him jumped and quaked, and the sounds of explosions roared in his ears.  

The ki-shield's protection, however, was short-lived; after a moment of intense bombardment, it crumbled, too feeble a construct to hold under the assault, and Gohan could do nothing except vainly try to roll out of the way.  There was a bright flash, then and instant of terrible pain, and he wasn't sure if he screamed or not…

Stillness, now, accompanied by darkness.  He was aware of pain, but he felt it only distantly, as though he knew his body should be there but for some reason it wasn't; still, it was the only thing he could feel---or see, or hear, for that matter---and so he held onto it, as though it were his sole anchor to the world.  He wouldn't have been surprised if it were, for though he was unsure if he were actually awake or not, he had the distinct feeling that he was still alive, and not by much.

But he didn't have the energy to be relieved by that fact.  No, all of his thoughts became focused upon one thing; what that thing happened to be was unclear at this moment, but gradually crystallized as his muddled mind slowly drifted toward what he assumed was consciousness.

_Trunks…_  That was the thought.  The only thing that mattered enough to enter his drowsy brain.

The pain was no longer distant; it slammed into Gohan full-force, eliciting a groan.  Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to ignore the agony.  He needed something that could draw his attention away from it so that he could bring himself to stand; he had to find Trunks.  No matter what may have happened to the kid, he needed to find him.  He had to know.

His sense of hearing returned before he was able to move, and picked up the sound of two voices---ones that he vaguely recognized as belonging to the androids---which gave the impression of a heated argument.

"You just couldn't resist, could you?" came the first voice, that of Android Seventeen.

"Hey, I told you I couldn't promise anything!" Android Eighteen snapped.

"You could have played with him a little longer!  I'd have been able to get a little fun in, too, that way!"

"It isn't _my_ fault that you took so long with the puny brat!  What's the matter?  Was he a bit too tough for you?"  Mocking laughter punctuated the last statement.

"Too tough for me?  Have you got your wires crossed?  The day some pathetic runt gives me any trouble…"

The argument continued in the same tone, and it had taken Gohan a moment to realize that he and Trunks were the topics of debate.  His heart started to sink; from what he'd heard, it seemed as though the kid hadn't managed to escape.

No.  He wasn't going to allow himself to think that way.  The idea that Trunks was dead was only a supposition; Gohan really didn't have any proof, only a statement that left some room, however small, to be misinterpreted.  Desperately, he latched onto that rationalization.  Trunks was probably fine, had probably found some way to slip away unnoticed.  That had to be it.  The kid couldn't be dead; he just couldn't be.

Gritting his teeth, Gohan finally managed to push himself up to his hands and knees; his head swam, threatening to drag him back into unconsciousness, but he fought it, and opened his eyes.  Groaning, he lifted his gaze; the edges of his vision were blurry, and his head light, giving him the surreal impression, as he watched the figures of the androids bickering incessantly, that he was dreaming.  

Android Seventeen's eyes angrily flicked over to him for an instant, and then returned to him, the anger replaced by surprise.  Seventeen smiled.  "Hey, Eighteen, check it out.  He's alive."

"Hm?"  Eighteen turned her blonde head to look at Gohan.  With an indignant frown, she crossed her arms.  "Well, what do you know?  Looks like you had nothing to get so upset about."

Gohan paid her little attention; he was focused on her brother.  "Trunks…" he began through clenched teeth, straining to make his voice heard as he climbed unsteadily to his feet.  He needed to know for sure.  "What… did you do to him?"

Seventeen chuckled in apparent amusement.  "Oh, your little friend?  Heh.  Are you sure you want to know?"

"Tell me!" Gohan demanded hoarsely, fists clenching and unclenching spasmodically; he was in no mood to play these ridiculous games.

"Gee, I don't know," Android Seventeen returned, voice full of mock-innocence.  He turned to his sister.  "Hey, Eighteen, do you know what happened to the shrimp?"

Eighteen shrugged, joining in the act.  "Nope.  No idea.  Anything could have happened to the stupid runt.  Probably deserved it."

"I said:  _tell me!_"  Gohan was barely aware that his ki had flared to life again, its aura flickering from white, to gold, and back again.  Chunks of debris lifted into the air, shivering as though they still rested upon the shaking ground, and then exploded.

None of these things, however, stole the grin from Android Seventeen's face.  "That's quite the temper you've got there.  All right, if you really want to know that badly…  The last I saw of him was when I sent a building crashing down on his head."

"Nani?"  Gohan's voice was a shaky whisper.

"You heard me," Seventeen continued, his grin widening.  "A huge one, too.  Tons and tons of rock.  Brat's squashed flatter than a swatted bug."  

More dizzy than his wounds could account for, Gohan sank to his knees, burning eyes focused upon the ground; his throat hitched.  _No…  It can't…  He can't be…_

The battered pavement hazed out of his vision, replaced by memories of the past two weeks.  Trunks looking at him warily after he'd first rescued him…  Trunks crying quietly because he missed his mother…  Trunks bursting out laughing when Gohan had kept embarrassing himself in the woods…  Trunks' face alight with glee and excitement when he'd learned how to fly…

Each of these images shattered before his eyes, blown to pieces by two small words.  _He's dead…_

"Aww, Seventeen, I think you hurt his feelings," a mocking voice floated into his ears.

"Poor little kid," another voice teased.  "Guess he shouldn't have insisted on knowing; he just can't handle it."

The words seared through Gohan's mind, a sensation even greater than the trails of burning liquid that leaked from his eyes.  They'd taken someone from him again, those monsters.  The first and only real friend he'd had in three years was gone.  Murdered.

_Not… not again…_ he thought brokenly.

"You know, kid," came the second voice, Android Seventeen.  "I could fix it so you could see him again really soon.  How about we end this?"

Lifting his gaze, Gohan narrowed his eyes in fury as Seventeen slowly approached him.  This wasn't three years ago, when he'd still been freshly heartbroken over his father at the time of his friends' deaths; this was now, when he had come to terms with the terrible events of his past.  This time, he wasn't going to retreat into sorrow.  No.  This time, the androids were going to _pay_.

Gohan pulled himself to his feet, the multitude of individual agonies that had kept him close to slipping back into darkness forgotten.  With a shout of rage, he flared his ki, straining it into golden brilliance; the ground trembled anew under the force of the shockwave.  He fixed his eyes on the surprised face of Android Seventeen.

"Hai," he said softly.  "Let's end it."

_It's so dark._

That was the first thought that entered his mind.  Not the terrible pain in his hand, nor the hot stickiness on his forehead.  Trunks didn't really know why that was; being hurt was supposed to be a lot scarier than being in the dark, wasn't it?

Dizzily, he used his good hand to push himself up, blinking as something thick dribbled into his eye.  Probably blood.  His back was pressed up against something cold and rough; he prodded his good hand against it, and decided that it must be rock.  That made sense.  He fuzzily remembered rocks falling over him.  After he'd seen that last building blown up, he'd found one with the door tucked further back into the wall, just like the place where Gohan-san had saved him the first time, and decided to hide there.

_Gohan-san…_  The thought caused Trunks to wrap his arms around himself, ignoring the pain in his right hand, and biting his lip to keep from crying---but the tears came anyway.  

"He's not coming this time, brat.  My sister has some business with him, and I don't think she's happy.  Bad things happen when she's not happy---death, usually."

Death.  Killing.  He knew what those words meant, and he could say them if he wanted.  But he never wanted to.  They were scary words; they made terrible things even more real.  Somehow, saying things like "gone away forever" or "get" made them not so serious, so he used those words all the time.  His papa wasn't "dead"; he had just "gone away".  It made it so much easier to handle.  It didn't matter which words Trunks used now, though---he was still horribly worried about what might have happened to Gohan-san.

Trunks didn't want Gohan-san to… die; actually, he didn't want anyone to die, but especially Gohan-san.  He was his friend, the only one he really had; Trunks loved his mother a whole lot, but parents didn't count as friends.  

Wiping his eyes, he tried to convince himself that Gohan-san was all right; after all, he had managed to get away from the bad robots before, at least one time.  He couldget away again.  _But last time I saw him, he was getting beat up real bad…_

Trunks blinked back fresh tears and sniffled, coming to a decision.  He was going to go and find Gohan-san.  He didn't care if it was dangerous or not, because he had to make sure that Gohan-san was all right, and besides, he was going to be extra careful that the bad robots didn't see him.  It was a simple idea, and one that Trunks thought he could probably make work.

Now all he had to do was find a way to get out from under all of the rocks.

He wrinkled his face in thought, rolling several ideas through his mind.  He wasn't strong enough to move the rocks, and he didn't think that anyone would hear him if he tried to call for help, so neither of those options were any good.  Wearied, he sighed, and gently rubbed his injured hand---it still hurt, and when he touched it, it felt like there were little cracks in it---with his good one.

"I gotta find a way out," he whispered, hoping that maybe hearing his own voice would make him feel less lonely.  It didn't.  "What would Gohan-san do?" 

Closing his eyes, Trunks thought back to the day that Gohan-san had first saved him.  They'd been underneath a lot of rocks then, too, and Gohan-san had blown them up with his ki…

Trunks' eyes snapped open.  Blowing the rocks up?  Could that work?  He'd seen how Gohan-san and the bad robots shot beams of ki out of their hands, and it didn't look very hard; all he figured it would take was making a ki ball like he had while he was learning how to fly and pushing it away from him.  Easy.  He was sure he could do it.

Shifting carefully---there wasn't very much room---Trunks leaned his back against the door so that he was facing the rocks.  He raised his left hand, and pushed some ki into it; a pale glow lit the small space.  Tightening his lips, he forced more power into the flickering yellow ball that floated just in front of his palm, until he felt that he had enough to make a hole---and then pushed it forward.

He jumped at the bright flash and the fierce hiss that accompanied the release.  A funny smell wafted into his nose, a smell that he knew.  It was how places smelled after the bad robots attacked them.  He'd always hated that smell---it reminded him of the bad robots, and it was also just plain yucky---but he'd never known what it was.  Cautiously, he extended one finger and prodded the place where he could hear the hissing noise.

"Ow!"  Trunks jerked his hand back.  The rock was hot to the touch.  Curious, he waited until the burning feeling in his finger went away, and then prodded the rock again.  He smiled when he discovered that he'd managed to blow up a little chunk of it.  That wasn't so hard, but it looked like it was going to take lots of blasts before he would be able to get out of here; he'd have to try to make the next ones stronger so it wouldn't take as many.  And then, once he was free, he'd go find Gohan-san and then they would go see his mother.

Excited by these prospects, Trunks raised his hand again and fired, making sure that this blast was stronger than the first one.  He checked to see how effective it had been---after waiting a minute so that he wouldn't burn his finger like he did last time---and found that the impression in the rock had deepened a little bit.  Sighing, Trunks let free another.

This was going to take a while.

  

Gohan's body rebelled against the level of power he'd summoned, pleading exhaustion and injury, but he refused to listen to it.  He would eventually have to, he knew, but for now he ignored the protests.  Before he dared give in to them, there was something that he needed to do, something that he could not disregard.

The edges of his vision were still hazy---whether from his wounds or his rage he neither knew nor cared---but he could see well enough.  Android Seventeen's face sported an expression of mild surprise, while behind him, Android Eighteen had raised a blonde eyebrow.

"That sure made you mad, huh?" Seventeen asked casually, a smirk creeping onto his thin lips.  "Well, that's good; I was hoping you'd put up a fight.  Your little friend was fun, but without being able to fight, he could only amuse me so much.  Try to be more entertaining that he was, okay?  Or can you even manage that in your condition?"

In answer, Gohan bared his teeth and launched himself forward; he snarled ferociously as Android Seventeen lightly sidestepped his first attack and coolly danced around the next one.  Gohan would have forced himself to calm down, so that he could think more clearly and fight less predictably, but without his fury, he would be unable to retain Super Saiyajin form and therefore lose any chance of actually doing damage to his opponent.  That chance was the only thing he wanted, and he was not about to let it go.

"Come on!  You're going to have to do better than that!" Seventeen called out playfully.

Gohan cut off the android's ensuing chuckles with a punch that connected solidly with his nose; Seventeen staggered a bit, but otherwise suffered little or no damage, still managing to evade the kick that Gohan sent toward his chest.  

A flash of light.  Gohan almost didn't see it, and barely managed to dodge it in time, but he realized belatedly that it was only a feint; he had no time to react properly to prevent Android Seventeen's knee from smashing into his ribs, exactly where he'd been struck earlier and the bone was weak.  He felt the snap much more than he heard it, doubling over as a cry tore itself from his throat.

A heavy blow to his temple sent Gohan tumbling to the ground, fighting to remain conscious.  Succeeding in that much, he pushed himself into the air as soon as he rolled to a stop, narrowly evading the pseudo-ki blast that was sent his way, though he coughed a bit on the dust that exploded upward from where the blast had made contact with the pavement.

Pain and dizziness clawed at his power, trying to tear it from his grasp.  For a few seconds, Gohan was tempted to give in; he was tired, weak, and in desperate need of sleep.  Still, he pushed that impulse away as he watched Android Seventeen smoothly raise himself to his level in the air, grinning.  Like he'd probably been when he'd murdered Trunks.

Gohan bared his teeth in a snarl, forcing that horrible thought through his mind in an endless cycle, adding more fuel to the furious blaze in his heart.  _He killed Trunks.  He killed Trunks…_

"Not bad so far, all things considered," Seventeen drawled.  "But not nearly enough.  I might have to end this quicker than I wanted, just to make sure that I don't get bored.  Everyone has to go around and do something to spoil my fun.  Eighteen… you… even your little friend."  The android's grin shifted into a cold smirk.  "Well.  _That_ one's been taken care of already."

That simple statement was all it took.  Gohan surged forward in half-blind fury, instinctively aiming all of his blows at what he'd long-since learned were critical points of the body, but each time, Android Seventeen smoothly ducked out of the way, making no counterattacks and forcing Gohan to chase him across the sky.  Not a single strike came even close to landing; it was, perhaps, one of the least successful assaults that Gohan had ever launched. 

Single-mindedly focused on attack, he was unable to defend himself when Android Seventeen finally decided to move to the offensive; the blows were not many, but they were powerful, and each time one landed, something broke.  First, his nose, smashed by the heel of a hand.  Next, his collarbones, snapped by a fist.  Then his shoulder, shattered by a foot.

The pain was incredible, a million separate agonies blended into one.  A horrible burning sensation that refused to stay in its places of origin, crashing over each of Gohan's nerves like an ocean of liquid fire, drowning sight, and hearing, and all other senses.

He didn't even feel his body hit the ground.

  


It was getting closer, that little circle of light.  Encouraged, he crawled toward it, eager to leave his tight confines.  Slowly, he drew closer, and closer…

Trunks poked his head out into the open air, taking deep breaths.  The air out here still had that awful smell of a bad robot attack, but it was a lot better than the air under all the rocks---that had been all stuffy and really uncomfortable.  He sat still for only a minute, and then, being extra careful not to use his hurt hand too much, wriggled out of the tunnel that he'd blasted through the rocks.

Once he was free, he sat with his back against the rock pile, and closed his eyes sleepily.  It had taken a lot of blasts---he wasn't sure how many, since he didn't know how to count that high yet---to make a big enough hole for him to fit through, and using his ki had made him really tired.  He'd had to stop a lot, just so he could get some rest and be able to fire any more ki blasts; sometimes, he'd almost fallen asleep…

Trunks' eyes snapped open; there his body went, trying to take a nap again without his permission.  Didn't it know that he had important things to do?  Like finding Gohan-san?  Bodies sure didn't think very well, or his would certainly have realized that he had things that needed to be done.

"We can go to sleep later," he mumbled at himself, climbing to his feet.  The world spun a little as he did so, forcing him to put his good hand to his forehead for a minute to steady himself.  He noticed absently that the hand came away bloody.

Blinking dazedly, Trunks scanned the area, wondering which way Gohan-san was.  All he saw were a bunch of destroyed buildings, and a whole lot of people, some of them bleeding or limping, or caring for other people who were, heading steadily in one direction.  Curious, he turned to see where they could all be going.  His eyes took in a huge, domed building, still undamaged, with a lot of open space around it.  Something was written in big letters on the building, and though Trunks couldn't read very well yet, he knew what the words were---his mother used to tell him all the time---and he stared in awe and disbelief.

Capsule Corporation.

"Home," he whispered, so softly that even he barely heard his voice.  Standing in front of him was the place he'd used to think he might never see again.  The place where he followed his mother around all the time while she was working, and tried to play with some of the neat machines that she and Grampa made.  The place where Gramma would sometimes let him have a sweet or two before supper as long as he promised not to tell his mother.  The place where his mother would hug him goodnight, tuck him in, and tell him silly bedtime stories.  

Trunks wanted desperately to just run inside, find his mother, and give her the biggest hug ever, but…  He looked back over his shoulder.  "Gohan-san…"

He bit his lip, and looked back and forth from home, to over his shoulder, unable to decide which way he really wanted to go; he felt as though he were being pulled on by the two directions, and that he might rip in half if he didn't pick one.  His teeth dug even harder into his lip as his mind rattled off reasons to go one way or the other, until he made his choice.  Drawing in a deep, shaky breath, Trunks broke into a run.

Homeward.   


	16. A Pair of Surprises; Investments in the ...

Disclaimer:  For the next-to-last time in this fic (as I'm working on the epilogue right now)  I do not own anything related to DBZ. (Well, except the chibi-Gohan action figure that my roommate gave me last week, but I don't think that counts.) The Burden of Hope 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:  A Pair of Surprises; Investments in the Future 

The first floor garden of the Capsule Corporation facility, normally only filled with tall fountains, and exotic plants and animals, found itself playing host to well over a few dozen guests.  Because of its size, and the fact that it remained undamaged, the freshly-injured and newly-homeless alike made the trek here for medical treatment and shelter.  It wasn't the first time that Capsule Corporation had been called upon to fill such roles, and would likely not be the last; so long as the androids existed, there would be a chance that an attack would force people to flock to the building.

Bulma wiped a hand over her face, exhausted.  She'd been trying to assist her mother in tending to the wounded as best she could, but she was a technician, not a doctor, and had probably been more harm than help.  After she'd attempted to pull a man, who had fallen to his knees in exhaustion from running, to his feet, not realizing that she was grabbing onto a broken arm, her mother had shooed her away and told her to go and handle something else.  Thus Bulma had decided to occupy herself by bringing together separated families and offering comfort to those who had lost loved ones.

She almost hated to admit it, but she was jealous of all the family reunions she'd created.  It was nearly too much, seeing husbands and wives leaping into each other's arms, crying and professing their love.  There was no chance of her doing that with Vegeta---not that there would have been one while he was alive, since neither of them were much for such open displays of affection.  What hurt even more was seeing parents reuniting with their children, hugging them tightly and promising that nothing would ever happen to them.  There was no chance of that for her, either.  Bulma actually quite preferred to be around the bereaved; at least those people were no better off than she was.

Another group of people, most of them looking even worse than those already present, slowly and unsteadily filed into the room, gently ushered in by her father.  Some supported those who were either limping, or bleeding all over the grass, changing it from a lovely green to a sickly red.  Mothers carried what Bulma sincerely hoped were only mildly injured or tired children, rather than dead ones.  Through that crowd, she heard a little boy's voice calling out, "Mama?"

Bulma swallowed a lump in her throat; that little boy sounded so much like Trunks that she wanted to cry.  Her imagination was just playing tricks on her, though and she knew it.  She wanted her son back so badly that she made out any small boy's voice to be his, and she knew that none of them could be.

_Face it,_ she told herself.  _You've got to face it, Bulma---you don't have a son anymore.  He was killed two weeks ago, and he's not coming back._

"Mama!" the child's voice rang out again, and Bulma found herself wanting to slap the kid who was daring to remind her of her loss.  Couldn't he just keep his mouth shut while he looked for whoever his mother was?  Did he have to keep shouting that word that insisted on stabbing her in the heart? 

A tiny figure stumbled out of the mob of new arrivals; at the sight of that figure, Bulma sank to her knees in shock, thoroughly convinced that she'd lost her sanity.  It was a small boy---tiny, actually.  The boy was rather slim, but still had a certain amount of baby fat, as befitting his age, and a mop of short lavender hair rested atop a head which was turning this way and that as its owner continued to call, "Mama!"

Reluctantly, fearing that the child would disappear as soon as she opened her mouth, Bulma spoke.  "Trunks-chan?"

At the sound of her voice, the little boy finally looked her way with eyes the same deep blue as hers and the same angular shape as his father's.  A dark red streak marred the pale skin of his forehead, but he didn't seem to be bothered by it as those eyes widened in joy and a broad smile spread across his lips.

"Mama!" he crowed, rushing toward her, and a second later, Trunks was in her arms.

Bulma ran her hands up and down her son's back, trying to make sure that he was real; it certainly felt as though he were, though she couldn't fathom how it was possible.  He'd kept on fleeing with the pack of people who had surely been slaughtered two weeks earlier.  How could he have escaped?  And how could he have survived on his own for so long when he still struggled with the simple task of tying his shoelaces?

Though she was loath to do so, Bulma pulled back a little, examining Trunks' face.  He wore the brightest grin that she'd ever seen and tears had gathered at the corners of his eyes; it wasn't until she saw this that she felt the salty wetness running down her own cheeks.  Carefully, she raised one hand, and lightly traced her fingers across the gash on his forehead; Trunks winced at this, but didn't try to pull away.

"You're hurt," she observed, her voice husky.

"It doesn't hurt very bad, Mama.  I'm okay," Trunks reassured her, his soft voice sounding strangely calm.  He leaned in and hugged her again.  "I missed you lots, Mama."

A low chuckle escaped Bulma's lips as she finally allowed herself to smile, and she hugged him back.  "I missed you lots, too, Trunks-chan.  But everything's okay, now.  Mama's got you.  Everything's fine."  She pulled back a second time, and squeezed his hands reassuringly.

"Ouch!" Trunks gasped, jerking away.

Blinking in confusion, Bulma shifted her gaze slightly downward to see Trunks gingerly rubbing his right hand with his left one.  She pried his fingers away and lifted his wrist as she instructed, "Let me see that."  

Gently, she prodded his hand with her own fingers, noticing several small cracks in it; Trunks flinched at each touch, and tried to pull back, but she held him firmly until she finished her examination.  She may not have been a doctor, but she didn't need to be in order to make her diagnosis.  "Your hand is broken.  Trunks-chan, how did this happen?"  Trunks opened his mouth to answer, but Bulma stopped him before he could speak.  "Nevermind.  Tell me later, after I get your Gramma and Grampa to help me bandage that up."

She started to rise as Trunks nodded in agreement, but then halted as he tugged on the hem of her shirt, urging her to stay on her knees.  A worried frown creased the tiny boy's face, and she stared back at him quizzically.  "Trunks-chan, what's wrong?"

"He… he said he'd catch up.  Did he get here?  Is he okay?" he asked anxiously, his voice half-choked.

Bulma wrinkled her brow even further, not understanding who Trunks could possibly be talking about.  "Trunks-chan, I don't know who you mean," she said, encouraging her son to give the name.  She received her second shock of the day when Trunks responded.

"Gohan-san."

  


Android Eighteen sighed boredly, tucking her hair behind her ear as she watched the kid's golden aura wink out after a few well-placed blows from her brother; the kid went limp, and dropped to the ground.  The fight, brief and pitiful as it had been, was finished.

Shaking her head in disgust, she lowered herself to the street, gracefully landing next to the kid's body, which lay broken and motionless on the pavement.  His hair was black again, instead of blond, and a few messy locks were plastered to his forehead by blood, some of which must have sprayed out when Seventeen had evidently broken his nose.  The kid's face was frozen in a grimace, as though he could still feel pain even though he was probably dead.  One arm lay at an odd angle, indicating that it was broken, as well; his hideous orange gi was tattered, and sported generous amounts of dirt and blood.

"Weakling," Eighteen muttered.  She couldn't understand where the stupid kid had ever gotten it into his head that he was capable of challenging her and Seventeen; he was barely worth their time.  

She didn't look up as her brother touched down beside her.  Instead, she lightly prodded the kid with the toe of her boot; he let out a small, pathetic noise that sounded like a strange mixture of a moan and a whimper.  "You didn't kill him."

"Well, I was going to," Seventeen began nonchalantly, "but then I got thinking.  Things have gotten a lot more fun these past couple of weeks.  You, especially, were getting bored before he started showing up.  Why get rid of him so soon?  If he gets stronger, he could become a very entertaining toy."

Eighteen frowned, considering her brother's logic.  He was right---she had been enjoying herself more ever since the kid had started trying to fight them.  The kid was a sorry excuse for a challenge right now, which caused his amusement value to steadily decline if a battle somehow lasted for a while, but if they let him increase his strength, he may eventually become interesting.  It wasn't as though he'd ever be powerful enough to destroy them; the very idea was ludicrous.  

"Fine," she agreed at last, and glared over her shoulder at her brother.  "We'll let him go, but this had better turn out to be a worthwhile investment."

Seventeen just chuckled.  "Don't worry, Eighteen.  It will.  And even if it doesn't, at least we've got someone we can play with longer before we make the kill." He rose into the air a little.  "Come on.  We've gotten all we're going to get from him for now."

Eighteen watched her brother fly off, then glanced at the kid again.  "You'd better be worth this, brat.  Otherwise, you're not going to end up thankful that we spared your life this time."

Without another word she took off after Seventeen, away from the city.

Bulma sat frozen for a moment, staring at Trunks in disbelief, and was quite certain that his head wound had damaged his mind.  Something of that nature _had_ to have happened if he thought that Gohan had ever been with him.

"Um… Trunks-chan…" she began hesitantly, mindful of the fact that her son wholly believed what he had just said.  "We talked about this before.  The bad robots got Gohan a long time ago…"

Trunks shook his head furiously.  "No!  No they didn't!  He's been taking care of me!"

"Trunks-chan, that's impossible," Bulma countered.

"No, it _isn't!_" he insisted, stomping his foot.  "He came and saved me from the bad robots, and took care of me, and took me to Chichi-obasan's house, and teached me how to fly and everything!"

Blinking, Bulma sat back, trying to absorb the story.  Trunks was as imaginative as any four-year-old, and often came up with the most improbable tales… but he was rarely this insistent on anything.  That in itself was rather compelling proof that everything he'd said was true.  And, Bulma admitted, she _wanted_ to believe that it was true; the thought that one of her friends might have escaped death at the hands of the androids was an extremely tempting one.  She hadn't found Gohan's body on that long-ago day, so it _was_ possible that he had survived, but still… 

"Trunks-chan, do you think you could show Mama how you can fly?" she asked, in need of concrete evidence.  If Trunks really could do it, now, it would confirm his story; after all, how likely was it that he had figured out flight entirely on his own?

She was somewhat surprised to see Trunks give her a simple nod, as though her request were no big deal.  The next thing Bulma knew, she was looking up at the bottoms of his shoes as he floated in the air just in front of her.

"See?" he said, lowering himself back to the ground.  "Gohan-san teached me."

"H… hai.  I see," Bulma mumbled absently, her mind reeling.  It was true.  All of it was true.  Every word that Trunks had told her.  And the story made so much sense, too, she realized.  Gohan, being the sole survivor of the androids' attack, would have been the only one who could have possibly helped Trunks escape from them.  Also, Gohan knew how to live on his own, so he would have known how to take care of someone else in such a situation.  And communications had been---and were still---down, so Chichi would have been unable to contact Bulma to tell her anything while Trunks and Gohan would have been at the Son household.

"Mama?" Trunks prompted, shaking her out of her stupor.

"Trunks-chan, when did you last see Gohan?"

The little boy frowned, his lower lip trembling.  "Outside.  He made his hair go yellow and was fighting the bad lady-robot, but she was beating him up real bad."

"Outside…" Bulma whispered, then tightened her lips in determination.  Rising to her feet, she took Trunks' uninjured hand in hers and sprinted toward the door, where her father continued to usher people inside.  She couldn't see him well while the refugees streamed past him, as neither of them were particularly tall, but she could make out the bushy white hair on his head, and the top of the rims of his glasses.  "Otousan!"

Her father stood on his toes so that he could see her.  "Oh, it's you, my dear.  What is it?"

"Are the androids still out there?"

"I don't think so, dear.  There hasn't been a sound or any flashes of light for several minutes, now.  Why?" he finished as the last of the group limped by him.  He looked down a little and his eyes widened.

"Hi, Grampa," Trunks greeted almost casually.

"Great.  Perfect," Bulma responded quickly, not even taking note of her father's surprise.  "I think that Gohan might be out there. Come on, Trunks-chan."  

"Bye, Grampa," Trunks called as she tugged on his wrist, all but dragging him out of the building with her.

Bulma slowed her pace once she and Trunks were off the Capsule Corporation grounds, on the thought that it was only a _possibility_ that the androids were gone, not a certainty.  She suddenly wished that she hadn't acted so impulsively, as was her wont to do in intense situations, since, if the androids were still around, death was a disturbingly plausible outcome.  At the very least, she wished that she hadn't taken Trunks with her; she didn't want to risk losing him again.  Nevertheless, she refused to turn back; she had made her decision, and now she would have to handle whatever consequences it may have generated.

"Stay close to Mama, all right?" she said, looking down at Trunks and giving his little hand a gentle squeeze.  "She's going to look for Gohan."

Trunks nodded, returning the squeeze.  "I'm gonna help you look."

That sentence nearly made Bulma freeze, finding another reason that she should have left Trunks inside with her parents.  If Gohan had indeed been fighting the androids, he was more than likely badly hurt… or worse; sadly, Trunks had seen many wounded and dead before, but that didn't mean that Bulma wanted him to see any more, especially someone about whom he cared.  It was quite clear that her son had become very attached to Gohan over the past couple of weeks, and she was afraid of how he might react when---if---they found him.

"Come on, Mama!  Hurry up!" Trunks urged, running ahead of her as much as he could and tugging her forward with all of the strength he was able to muster.  "We gotta find Gohan-san!"

Almost numbly, Bulma allowed Trunks to pull her along, her eyes searching for any sign of Gohan's presence---his body, or a limb peeking out from beneath a pile of rubble… anything.  The area that she and Trunks were currently searching was strangely empty of people, and wasn't in very rough shape; a few buildings here and there had crumbled to the ground, but most stood upright and untouched.  The further they ventured away from Capsule Corporation, however, the worse the devastation became.  One area, Bulma noted, was ravaged to a degree she had never seen; even the ground had been torn asunder almost beyond recognition, jagged chunks of concrete sticking up at every angle imaginable.  That the spot wasn't merely wiped off the face of the planet was a miracle.  What had caused the androids to attack this particular place so viciously?

Bulma wasn't sure how long she and Trunks had been searching, but it felt like days.  In truth, she was on the verge of taking him back home; it didn't seem as though they were going to find anything, and besides, Trunks was hurt, and needed to be treated… but before she could act, a shriek of horror pierced her ears and sliced through her thoughts.

"Gohan-san!"  Trunks tore his hand from her grasp and rushed forward to kneel beside a body that lay a short distance in front of them.  After a few seconds of startled blinking, Bulma hurried to her child's side, and Trunks buried his face in her leg, sobbing violently.

Her eyes fastened upon the eerily still form that lay at her feet, which was dressed in a tattered and bloodstained gi that was reminiscent of the one that Goku had always worn; the figure's hair was dark and wild, sticking out in strange directions save for a few locks that seemed pasted to his forehead.  Though his face was smashed in a bit, Bulma could recognize familiar features---ones she remembered as being childlike---matured into adolescence.  There could be, in her mind, no doubt that she was standing over the crumpled form of a teenaged Son Gohan.

"Mama… is he… did they…" Trunks choked between sobs, unable to finish his questions.  "He… he's… gonna be okay… isn't he, Mama?"

"I don't know, Trunks-chan," Bulma answered softly, trying to keep her voice steady for her son's sake, and doing a poor job of it.  Gently, she pried Trunks off her leg so that she could kneel.  "I need you to let me check, okay?"

Trunks nodded obediently before smothering his face into her shirt as he continued to cry.  Tentatively, Bulma reached out to check for a pulse while praying that Gohan had the decency to be alive; she didn't think that Trunks would be able to handle it if he was dead.  Though she wanted to protect her son's feelings, she wasn't going to lie to him.

The skin underneath her fingers was warm---an encouraging sign.  Her fingers traced their way up the side of Gohan's neck, coming to a rest just before the place where it met his jawline.  She held this position for a moment, her heart thumping wildly in her chest as she waited…

"Thank Kami," she breathed.  A slow, but even throb existed beneath the boy's flesh.  Bulma used her free hand to rub the back of Trunks' head comfortingly.  "It's all right, Trunks-chan.  The bad robots didn't get him.  He's just hurt."

Slowly, Trunks lifted his head, and stared at her with tear-filled eyes tinged with hope.  "He's really okay?  He's not gonna…"

"He'll be fine as long as we take him back home with us.  When we're there, we can make him better," she promised, though her voice was a bit hesitant.  Her own words felt like a half-truth; while she was sure, given the relative strength of his pulse, that Gohan had a good chance of recovery, there was also the very real possibility that he might still die.  She didn't know what kind of internal injuries he may have suffered that could overwhelm him.

Trunks sniffled loudly, and wiped his left hand across his eyes a few times.  "Then let's go.  Let's take him back and make him better."

Bulma tightened her lips, once again cursing her impulsiveness.  If she'd been thinking, she would have brought her capsule case with her, so that she'd have had a car or something into which she could load Gohan's body.  For a moment, she considered making a run back home to get the case, but the expression on Trunks' face sunk that idea before it had any real chance to float; he wasn't about to leave his friend's side, and there was no way that she'd let him stay here on his own.  She guessed that she would have to do this the hard way.

"Here, let me get him," she ordered, scooting Trunks over to one side.  She slid her arms under Gohan's shoulders and stood, stumbling a bit because of his weight; he'd looked quite a bit lighter than he felt.  "All right, Trunks-chan, let's go.  You keep an eye out to help make sure Mama doesn't bump into anything."

Slowly, and with Trunks acting as her guide, Bulma dragged Gohan's limp form along the ground, making the trek back to the Capsule Corporation.  She just hoped that she was right about his survival odds.  It would be heart-wrenching to lose someone again who had only just returned.

  


Darkness.  Pain.  Those were the only two things of which he was consistently conscious.  Occasionally, other sensations or even sights invaded him---the face of an aqua-haired woman, or a strange, confined feeling over various parts of his body---but such things were fleeting.  Yet they were intriguing, as well, and he wanted to know what they meant; his curiosity, and a nagging feeling that he knew the face pushed him to find them again, be conscious of them long enough to figure out why they seemed so important.

It would have been easier, so much easier, to simply relax, to sink into the place where he would feel no pain; that place seductively beckoned him, and he was so very tempted…  And yet he refused its advances, struggling to surface instead of drown.  He had to know.  Quite a simple desire, but it kept him fighting.  Fighting.  He'd done that for so long, and, for whatever reason, could not find any logic in stopping.  Battle was something he knew well.

True as that may have been, it didn't make the struggle any less difficult; the call was more powerful than any enemy he had ever faced and it constantly reversed his progress… But unlike he'd been able to do to most of his powerful foes, he had defeated the call many times, more times than he could have counted even if he were capable of counting right now.  And, he reasoned as he made another lunge for the surface, there was no reason that he shouldn't be able to do it again…

He lifted his lids; it was an agonizingly slow process, but he managed it.  Light stabbed into his eyes almost painfully, but was dulled by the blurriness of his vision.  Moaning a little, he shifted slightly, taking note that he rested upon something soft, and blinked numerous times to clear his eyes.  For several minutes---or what he assumed was several minutes, anyway---he stared blankly up at what he was quite sure was a ceiling, something which he found rather odd, as he didn't remember being inside.

"Hey there, kiddo.  Are you finally going to stay with us, this time?" 

Slowly, he turned his head in the direction from which he'd heard the voice; he blinked a few more times to ensure that he could see properly, and his eyes focused upon the aqua-haired woman of whom he'd caught the occasional fleeting glimpse while he'd been floating in the area between consciousness and unconsciousness.  While he was aware that he should know the woman's name, he couldn't seem to recall it at the moment.

The woman raised one eyebrow inquisitively.  "I know you must have heard me, Gohan. You _can_ talk, you know---it's not like there's any vocal chord damage."

Gohan blinked again at those words, and suddenly snapped out of his grogginess.  "Bulma-san?" he croaked.

"Hai.  Glad you remembered," Bulma responded, chuckling a bit.  "I guess it's safe to say that that hard head of yours has healed up perfectly."

Gohan ignored the joke, trying to discern his location; only one possibility made any sense at all, so he decided that it must be correct:  Capsule Corporation.  But how?  Had Bulma found him and brought him back here?  If so, that would have to have meant that she'd made it a habit to search ruins for survivors… Now that he thought of it, how _had_ hesurvived, anyway?  He was sure that the androids would have made certain they finished him, this time.  Just like they had with Trunks…

Bulma looked so calm, so relieved.  How could she be if she'd just lost her son?  Of course, she would have thought that she'd lost him a while before now, so perhaps she had recovered somewhat?  Gohan hated the idea of hurting her, but she deserved to know the truth.  He opened his mouth to speak---

"You were in and out of it a lot, but it looks like you'll be fine, now," Bulma said before Gohan could tell her anything.  "Gave us more than a few scares, though."

"Gomen nasai, Bulma-san.  I…" he began slowly, hating how weak his voice sounded.  He was about to try explaining things again, when he was struck by her choice of words.  "Us?"

"Hai," Bulma answered casually.  "Trunks, especially, has been worried sick about you."

"Nani?  Trunks?  Where…"  Gohan shot upright in shock, only to have waves of pain sweep through him; with a shallow gasp, he fell back, and panted heavily as he tried to keep himself from fainting.

"Easy there, Gohan," Bulma admonished, firmly placing a hand on one of his shoulders for a moment to ensure that he wouldn't try to get up again.  "You may be healing, but you're not in that great of shape, yet."

Gradually, the pain dissipated, and Gohan managed to calm his breathing to the point where he could speak.  "Trunks… Where is he?"

He watched Bulma's gaze slide to one side before following her eyes himself; curled into a slumbering ball upon a plush black couch was a tiny figure of a child with lavender hair and a bandaged hand.  The child stirred a bit, mumbling something unintelligible, then resettled himself.

"I… I don't…" Gohan stammered disbelievingly.  "The androids told me that Seventeen killed him…"

Trunks---looking quite healthy, and most certainly not dead---stirred again, and yawned audibly, this time pushing himself up into a sitting position.  With his unbandaged hand, he sleepily knuckled his eyes; when he lowered the hand, his face was still scrunched with weariness.  "Mama?" he called out drowsily.

Gohan stared silently as the toddler slid off the couch and stretched his short limbs.  How could the kid have escaped?  He was supposed to have been buried…

Despite his relieved shock at his young friend's safety, Gohan was barely able to restrain a chuckle when Trunks' gaze finally fell upon him and the child's face lit up more brilliantly than twenty suns.  "Gohan-san!"  The toddler charged forward, and tried to excitedly attach himself to Bulma's leg, only succeeding in knocking the startled woman to the floor.

Now, though doing so caused stabbing pains to ripple through his chest, Gohan couldn't help but laugh---the sight was just too comical.  Trunks was jumping up and down in absolute glee, repeatedly shouting, "Look, Mama!  Look!  Gohan-san woke up!" and totally oblivious to the fact that he'd accidentally pushed his mother to the floor.  Meanwhile, Bulma appeared too stunned at the moment to do much more than shoot him a mildly irritated glare.   

After a few minutes, Trunks had composed himself to a certain degree and leaned his elbows on the edge of Gohan's bed, grin as wide as ever.  "You been sleeping lotsa days, Gohan-san.  Sometimes I got scared that you weren't gonna wake up, but Mama always said you were gonna be okay."

"Yeah, yeah, your mother reassures you and you don't even bother to help her up," Bulma grumbled as she finally pulled herself to her feet, though Gohan could see a smile tugging at the corners of her lips; Trunks didn't look as though he had paid any attention to the comment.  "Oh, that's okay, Trunks-chan.  Don't even glance at me or anything."

Gohan nearly laughed again as Trunks obediently kept his eyes off his mother, but then furrowed his brow in seriousness; there was something about which he was curious.  "So, Trunks… What happened to you?  How'd you get away?"

"I hid in a pushed-in door, just like when you saved me, so all the rocks couldn't get me.  Then I teached myself how to shoot my ki and made a hole to crawl out of," Trunks stated; he'd stood up straight during his explanation, his chest puffing out with pride.

Gohan smiled at the toddler's ingenuity, though in the back of his mind was a bit disturbed that Trunks was already firing ki blasts.  How long would it be before he had the desire to use such a skill in combat?  Quite a while, Gohan hoped.  But that subject could be worried about later.  "You're a smart kid, Trunks."

Trunks' smile widened as though that were the nicest thing that Gohan had ever said to him---and after a moment's thought, the older boy realized that it probably was.  He hadn't exactly been in the habit of openly complimenting the kid, after all.  

A sudden thought occurred to him, and made him groan.  "Asleep for days?  I'd promised Kaasan that I'd go straight home after I brought Trunks back here…  She's going to kill me for worrying her like this."  He turned his head to look at Bulma, and added as an afterthought, "She and Ojiisan say 'hi', by the way."

Bulma only shook her head, smirking ruefully.  "Don't worry, Gohan; if you can survive a fight with the androids, then not even your mother could do you in.  In any case, kiddo, you're going to have a few days of grace; communication lines for out of the city aren't exactly in working order right now."

Gohan sighed heavily, not in relief, but in pleasure of the fact that he could now concern himself with normal problems, such as evading his mother's wrath.  No more guilt over his friends' deaths, no more fearing for Trunks' life, and no more risking his own.  The last of those was only temporary, however, since he had a feeling that he would be back to doing that one within a matter of months, or even weeks.  More than once, the androids had crushed his world, and he couldn't just stand by anymore and let them crush the worlds of others---no one should have to experience the things that he had.  A few weeks ago, he didn't care---if people suffered, they suffered, and nothing could be done, so there was no point in worrying about it---but so much had changed for him.

"Trunks-chan, how about you go check if your Gramma is finished making supper yet?" suggested Bulma, drawing Gohan's attention back to her.

Trunks frowned in disapproval.  "But I wanna stay here with Gohan-san!"

"Do what your mom says, Trunks-kun," Gohan reinforced, choosing to ignore Trunks' wide eyes and Bulma's raised eyebrows at his use of the term.  Again disregarding their surprise, he carefully lifted his right arm---he couldn't move his left very much, considering that that shoulder was apparently broken---and brought his hand down gently on the toddler's head, ruffling his hair.  "I'm fine.  Now, go on."

Trunks appeared confused by the affectionate gesture for a few seconds, before giving a small smile and a brief nod.  "Okay," he agreed at last.  He frowned again, and gave an authoritative air to his voice as he added, "But I'm gonna come _right_ back."

With that, the child trotted out of the room.

"Hmph.  Well, how do you like that?" Bulma huffed, though Gohan could detect a note of amusement in her voice.  "He already listens to you more than he listens to me!"

"Well, of course he does," Gohan joked for the first time in years, uncharacteristically lighthearted.  "I'm not old."

"Old?" Bulma exploded, her normally pale cheeks flushed a dark, furious red.  "Just what is _that_ supposed to mean, Gohan?  I can't believe you of all people called me that!  I am _not_ old!"

Half-panicked, Gohan tried to shrink more deeply into the bed and desperately attempted to placate her.  "Bulma-san, calm down!  I was only kidding!  Of _course_ you're not old!"

To his immense relief, Bulma took several deep breaths to calm herself, apparently accepting his hasty explanation.  It seemed as though she were still the same Bulma that he remembered, and he was glad of that, no matter how much his eardrums were disagreeing with him at the moment.

"Anyway," Bulma began once she could breathe and her face had returned to its normal colour.  "I asked Trunks to leave, because… I just wanted to thank you, for taking care of him out there.  I'd really thought I'd lost him."  

Gohan said nothing, simply absorbed her words; Bulma, in turn, lifted a pale eyebrow.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" she asked.  "Something like:  'No problem, Bulma-san.  He was no trouble'?"

"That would be lying," Gohan returned smartly as a mischievous smirk crept onto his face.  "He was nothing but."    

Bulma chuckled softly.  "I bet.  I guess I'd better go make sure he doesn't cajole Okaasan into giving him a pre-supper snack, again.  They think I don't know about it, but I figured it out a long time ago.  You'll be okay on your own for a bit, right Gohan?"

"I'll be fine."

"Great."  She started to leave, but halted in the doorway and turned back to him.  "You know, if I catch Trunks-chan in the act, he's probably going to run back here and ask you to protect him from me.  I'd be ready, if I were you.  See you in a bit, kiddo," she said, then completed her exit.

Now alone in the room, Gohan stretched as much as he could, mindful of his injuries.  He quickly grew bored staring at the ceiling, so turned his head and was pleased to find a window.  The sight that greeted him at close range was pleasant enough---it seemed that restoration crews sprang up rather quickly, for so many people having surely been killed---but his eyes were drawn further away, where their acuteness could still read the signs of mass devastation, of a ravaged world which once perfectly mirrored a ravaged soul.  The mirror was no longer perfect, though the soul would never again carry the same light that it once had, for too much had happened for it to regain its old brilliance.

That world was the place where Trunks had nearly gotten him killed time and again, where Trunks had made him think the painful thoughts about his own family and shamed him for his previous behaviours.  The place where Trunks had forced him to go home and relive the two most torturous events of his past, and where Trunks had ripped his heart in half by making him believe that he was dead.

"Nothing but trouble," Gohan repeated aloud, not caring that he was the only one around to hear.  "And one of these days, kid, I'm going to have to thank you for that."


	17. Discovery of the Project; A Matter of Ti...

Disclaimer:  You know, I'm so happy that I've finished this story that I don't mind telling you all that I don't own DBZ! The Burden of Hope 

EPILOGUE:  Discovery of the Project; A Matter of Time 

"Kaasan, I'm fine.  Really," Gohan insisted, as his mother forced him back onto his bed.  It was a measure of his weakness---which he refused to admit to her---that she was able to do so.

"That's nonsense, Gohan-chan.  You're hurt," his mother scolded, glaring sternly at him.  "Now lie down.  You're not getting out of this bed until I say so."

"But Kaasan…" 

She cut him off.  "Okaasan knows what's best, Gohan-chan."  Sighing in a mixture of exasperation and wistfulness, she shook her head.  "I swear, you're as bad about this as your father used to be.  I remember when you, Bulma, and Kurilin were off on Nameksei, he tried over and over again to sneak out of the hospital; he even succeeded once, and ended up hurting himself even worse.  I won't have you doing any such thing."

Defeated, Gohan relaxed his muscles as his mother pulled the heavy covers over his body.  There was no point in trying to argue any further; while the androids might have been the most powerful in the conventional combat sense, no one could match his mother in verbal sparring.  She was practically unbeatable.  

He closed his eyes as she gently smoothed back his hair, and evened out his breathing.  He wasn't tired, by any means---since, thanks to his mother and Bulma, all he was really allowed to do throughout the day was eat and sleep---but it always reassured his mother when he rested, and he'd worried her too much already.  A little nap wouldn't hurt, he supposed…

  


The room was dark, now---somewhere between absolute and comforting.  Annoyed, Gohan rubbed his eyes; he hadn't meant to sleep for this long.  He strained his neck to see the outline of his mother sitting in the chair that sat nearly behind the bed, and his ears caught the sounds of her quiet breathing.

He shifted a little, and let out a tiny groan at the soreness in his muscles; they had been inactive for too long.  Just how much time had he spent lying in this thing, anyway?  At least two weeks, he was sure.  Yes, that was far too long, and it couldn't be healthy; while he was certainly not fully healed, he wasn't in so bad a condition anymore that getting up and stretching his legs a bit would hurt him.  If anything, such an action would probably be beneficial.

Carefully, so as to avoid waking his mother---though he had to viciously untangle the covers from his legs---Gohan slid off the bed, the floor icy under his bare feet.  He took a few unsteady steps, nearly falling over; it reminded him of the time early in his survival training, when he'd woken up one morning and, after involuntarily introducing himself to the ground a few times, found his tail to be missing.

He lightly padded across the floor, tensing as he passed his mother's recumbent form; she hadn't left his side since she'd arrived, summoned by Bulma's phone call as soon as communications had been restored, and he knew that he'd get in big trouble if he got caught sneaking away from her.  Just a short walk was all Gohan needed, and he hoped that he would be back before she awakened.

He let out a relieved sigh once he managed to leave the room without incident, and continued on less cautiously, knowing that he was out of earshot.  The hallways were nearly black, save for faint starlight trickling through the windows---starlight only, as the planet hadn't had a moon since Gohan was very young.  Gears whirred softly from all directions, the only signs of whatever Capsule Corporation machines had nocturnal duties to perform.  

Wandering aimlessly, he nonetheless took careful note of his route; no sense in getting himself lost.  Eventually, he became so accustomed to the darkness that he was nearly blinded by a stream of light pouring onto the floor from a doorway several feet in front of him.  He frowned curiously.  Why would there be any lights on at this late an hour?

He stepped into that doorway, blinking his eyes against the harsh brilliance that emanated from it.  The room was sparsely furnished, only boasting a few chairs along the near wall, and a desk set against the far one.  In one of those chairs, Trunks was curled up, snoring quietly as his head lay pillowed on his hands.  At the desk, Bulma sat, computer keys clicking under her fingers as she stared at a glowing screen.

"Bulma-san?" Gohan asked, keeping his voice low, though he had learned that Trunks was quite a sound sleeper; he doubted that an android attack could wake the kid.

Bulma jumped, and spun around in her chair.  "Gohan!" she gasped.  "Don't sneak up on people like that!"

"Gomen nasai.  I…"

"And what are you doing out of bed, kiddo?" she interrupted, lifting one eyebrow accusingly.  "You barely survived that scrap; you need to heal."

"Bulma-san, I'm f…"  He waved one arm dismissively, wincing as he waved the wrong one; he hissed in pain, and put his opposite hand to his injured shoulder.  Looking up sheepishly at Bulma's smug expression, he amended, "Well, it's nothing I can't handle."

Bulma shook her head.  "Stubbornness must run in Saiyajin genes.  Have any of you ever _not_ been fine after a battle?"  She turned back to her computer.  "Get back to bed, Gohan."

Deciding to ignore the order, Gohan entered the room, stopping just behind Bulma's chair.  Curiously, he eyed the computer screen; displayed upon it were statistics of various metals and alloys---everything from chemical composition, to melting points, to compression strengths.  "What are you working on?"

For some reason he couldn't understand, Bulma froze for a moment, her fingers hovering almost nervously over the keyboard, but she quickly regained her composure.  "It's nothing, Gohan.  Just some project I came up with not too long ago."

Gohan frowned at this, knowing that she was lying; her answer was too vague and her voice was too strained for the words to be true.  Besides that, the Bulma that he remembered was always proud of her projects, often telling all of the others about them before she was even asked, perhaps so that they could marvel at her genius.  She had never been secretive about them.

Perhaps the old Gohan would've let this go, let Bulma have her secret project, but he wasn't the old Gohan anymore.  Some part of him sensed a great importance from what she may have been concocting, stemming from the fact that she wished it to be unknown.  If it were that important, he wanted to be aware of it; didn't he deserve to, if he had to carry all the world's hope on his shoulders?

"Bulma-san, tell me," he said, not quite a command, but more than a request.  "I don't see any reason why you should be hiding it."  He stepped over to the end of the desk, where rested a small stack of books.  Idly, yet carefully enough to avoid an unpleasant reaction in his shoulder, Gohan lifted the top one off the pile, the one entitled _The Properties of Space_, and flipped through a few pages, feeling oddly nostalgic; maybe he hadn't really minded all that studying that his mother used to make him do, after all.

Several minutes passed with only the sound of turning pages, and Gohan was beginning to think that he would have to prompt Bulma again, when she finally spoke.  "A time machine."

He dropped the book.  "A what?"

"A time machine," she repeated calmly.

Suddenly dizzy, Gohan gripped the desk for support, so hard that his fingers dented the wood; he looked up briefly to see if the noise had awakened Trunks, but the child continued to sleep.  The words echoed in his mind, bouncing of the walls of his brain until he could hear nothing more.  _A time machine… _ "Are… are you saying you can make it so that none of this ever happened?  No androids… everyone alive…"

Bulma sighed heavily.  "Well, that's the plan, obviously:  to go back and warn everyone well in advance, so they might have a chance against the androids.  I wouldn't get my hopes too high, though, if I were you; I don't know if it's going to work."

Gohan barely heard the last two sentences, latching onto the plan.  What would it be like, to go back to the past?  To see the world as a beautiful place again:  pristine, untouched, knowing no such horrors as the ones that existed here?  More importantly, what would it be like to see all of his friends again?  He could almost envision the scene.  Piccolo-san standing tall, arms crossed, and apparently aloof, but with that barely visible, yet telltale look in his eyes showing otherwise…  Kurilin cracking a few jokes, until receiving a baleful glare from Vegeta…  Himself, younger and happier, giggling childishly as his father ruffled his hair…  His father.

A sudden bitterness overtaking him, he dug his fingers deeper into the wood, nearly tearing a chunk off the desk.  "Tousan…  I'd still lose him."

"Not necessarily," Bulma responded softly; surprised, Gohan turned, and found a sombre smile spreading across the woman's face.  "They've found a cure, Gohan.  Just a few weeks ago.  The heart virus isn't an insurmountable obstacle anymore."

"A cure…" Gohan whispered, hope rising tentatively in his heart.  If his father were there, they would defeat the androids for sure…

Bulma's smile faded.  "Look at me," she chided.  "I'm talking about this like I know it'll work.  Even if I get the time machine built, and someone goes back, there's no guarantee that it's going to change anything."

Pulled away from his near daydream, Gohan frowned.  "What do you mean?"

"Nobody really knows what would happen if someone were to travel back in time," Bulma explained slowly.  She gestured at the stack of books on the desk.  "As you can see, there are a whole bunch of theories on the subject.  Things _might_ change, or there might be any number of paradoxes.  Like maybe, you go back and fix something, but your actions don't exist without you, and you don't exist without your past, so you've only managed to undo any help you may have given.  Or maybe a new timeline would branch off from where you visited and create a parallel world, meaning that you can alter that reality, but not this one."  

Gohan tightened his lips as his mind soaked in the possibilities.  So much for fixing things before they happened; and at the thought of a new timeline developing where the world was peaceful and beautiful, he felt a hot surge of irrational jealousy.  Why should some other version of himself get all the happiness?  Didn't _he_ deserve some, after all he'd endured?

But he pushed those feelings aside, realizing how petty they were.  He'd suffered, and that was that; if that were the way it had to be, then he would live with it, not pout and sulk like a spoiled child.  Slowly, his gaze drifted back to Trunks, who still lay slumbering in the chair, eyes quietly closed.  Eyes that, when open, held brilliant light, but also deep shadows.  Innocent, yet not.  What about _him_?  Shouldn't he have a world where he could have a real childhood, where the nightmare ended before he was old enough to remember it?

"You know, I'm starting to wonder why I'm bothering with it," Bulma sighed.  "That it might help things here is only one tiny possibility out of about two million.  Not good odds."

"Bother with it," Gohan said, not taking his eyes off Trunks.

"Nani?"

"Bother with it," he repeated, at last turning back to her.  Steadily, he met her eyes.  "Even if it makes some other world.  I'll handle this one; you worry about the other, at least until the time machine is finished.  Then I'll take care of that one, too."

Bulma blinked a few times, then chuckled.  "Well, here we go:  trying to save the world again.  Just like old times, huh Gohan?"

"Hai," Gohan agreed after a moment, feeling a smirk come to his lips.  "Just like old times."

With that, he strode out of the room, deciding that he'd better get back into bed before his mother awakened.

**Author's Notes:**  Well, that's it folks.  The end of the line, of many a month's work, and the first big writing project that I've ever finished.  I just want to thank all of you who've stuck with me on this, even if you stuck with me in silence.  And so, I shall bid you farewell---at least until my muse comes back from the vacation I promised him once this fic was done.  

- Demi-Saiyan Prodigy


End file.
